The Taste of Salt
by BellaOfTheHouseOfBlack
Summary: Harry Potter is about to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts, but how can he pretend to be normal after everything that happened last year? With the sudden loss of someone he cared about? Then comes an unexpected alliance with a certain blonde Slytherin... Eventual Drarry with Cedric/Harry flashbacks.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: _The Smell of Dirt_

 _A/N: I don't own anything. I just play in JK Rowling's world! This fic includes mentions/direct quotes from OOTP; all quotes will be bolded._

Green light.

The smell of dirt.

Pain.

There was pain in his arm.

The taste of salt.

 _Pain_.

There was pain in his chest.

It weighed on him, suffocating.

Screaming.

Who was screaming?

But his mouth was open and his throat was tearing.

 _He_ was screaming.

" _CEDRIC!_ "

Harry James Potter flew up in bed, hands clutching at his aching head, sobs tearing from his chest. He heard a thump from a nearby room and tried desperately to silence himself.

 _Another nightmare, just a nightmare_ , he told his panicked mind, _Don't make things worse for yourself by waking the Dursleys._

He forced himself to take a deep breath in and let it out as slowly as he could. He repeated this process for several minutes, finally unclenching his hands and laying back down.

He rolled to his side, unsure if the salt on his tongue was tears or sweat.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of memories that the taste of salt inflicted.

Deep breaths…

Harry lay in his bed at Number Four Privet Drive, trying not to lose his mind.

Eventually the night would end. Eventually.

A few days later...

 **...'I heard you last night,' said Dudley breathlessly. 'Talking in your sleep. Moaning.'**

' **What d'you mean?' Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.**

 **Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.**

'" **Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!" Who's Cedric – your boyfriend?'**

' **I – you're lying,' said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn't lying – how else would he know about Cedric?**

'" **Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!"'**

' **Shut up,' said Harry quietly. 'Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!'**

'" **Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to –"** _ **Don't you point that thing at me!'**_

"I. Told. You. To. Shut Up."

Harry stood, fuming, wand drawn and aimed at his cousin's throat. Dudley didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't know how it was to lose someone so suddenly, so irreversibly.

Dudley opened his fat mouth to say something else, but froze.

 _Cold_.

Harry whipped his head around. Something was coming. He'd only felt cold like this when… he knew what approached without having to see.

 _Dementor._

"Dudley, run. _RUN!"_ Harry shouted.

But Dudley remained rooted to the spot.

Harry's vision began to blur around the edges.

The smell of grass and dirt. Pain in his arm. So much pain…

What was happening?

His numbed mind tried to process the sensations. Always, always before when he'd come into contact with Dementors, he'd revisited the night parents died. He heard his mother screaming, heard his father's final words… so why was he seeing images of a dark graveyard, of a cauldron, of a pair of glassy, lifeless eyes?

Harry shook his head, trying frantically to clear the green tint that had suffused his vision. He had to get out of there. He already visited the graveyard almost every night; he couldn't bear to relive it under the influence of a Dementor. Looking around, he saw the ghastly creature floating towards them. Dudley still wasn't moving. Harry tugged at his cousin's blubberous arm, but the boy simply wouldn't budge.

The Dementor was close now, and Harry could hear screaming - his own voice, screaming in his memories.

Memories. _His patronus_. He had to think of a happy memory before he lost himself to the darkness of the graveyard. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated hard.

 _Cedric_. Sandy hair. Easy smile. Cedric, hair singed slightly and face flushed from exertion, holding a golden egg triumphantly in the air. Cedric, a towel wrapped around his waist in the Prefect's bathroom... Cedric, leaning in - so close - and pressing his soft lips against Harry's.

A balloon inflated in Harry's chest, and he threw the words into the night air:

" _Expecto patronum!"_

A silver stag erupted into being and charged the Dementor.

Harry watched the stag pursue the cloaked nightmare until it finally fled.

The Patronus turned back and looked at Harry, who reached out his hand towards it - but the beautiful creature dissolved in front of him.

Harry turned, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks.

Dudley lay on the ground, unmoving. With an exhausted sigh, the smaller boy leaned down, grabbed a chubby arm, and heaved.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Bruised Shin

Draco Malfoy loved his life. Honestly, he did.

That was, until recently.

Before last year, Draco had had everything. His friends followed his every command. His parents bought him whatever he wanted them to buy… But then stupid Potter ruined everything.

When he had come back from the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter told the world that the Dark Lord had returned.

Even as Potter clung desperately to the body of the Hufflepuff boy, and a sliver of fear rooted itself in Draco's heart. He remembered that night so vividly.

…

 _Last Year_

The crowd's constant murmuring was grating on Draco's last nerve. They had been waiting for _ages_ , just staring at the wall of greenery that was all they could see of the hedge maze.

When Potter and the others had first entered, the crowd erupted into cheers of encouragement. They maintained their momentum for an impressively long time after the champions disappeared from view, but now the onlookers were growing restless, shifting and whispering amongst themselves.

And then suddenly, what looked like two figures appeared on the grass below. Cheers erupted once more from the crowds in the stands, and Draco leapt to his feet to see who the Triwizard Champion was.

Then he heard the screams.

He ran through the crowds - not towards the commotion, mind you; he wasn't some reckless Gryffindor. He ran to the side, securing a clear view as everyone else surged forwards.

He saw Potter clinging to the pretty Hufflepuff boy, and for a second, an inexplicable anger blossomed in his chest.

But something was wrong. Diggory was too still, and Potter was screaming.

The angry heat in his veins was quickly replaced with a terrible cold.

Frantically, Draco looked around. He caught a flash of familiar blond hair.

"Draco!" called his mother. He'd rarely seen her so openly fearful. She deftly maneuvered through the throng of people and enveloped him in her arms briefly.

When he pulled back, he peered behind her - but his father was nowhere to be seen.

And he knew.

He heard what Potter was screaming, and he knew it was true.

The Dark Lord had returned.

His life would never be the same.

…

Draco sat in his chair, adopting a bored expression. The toad-like woman at the front of the classroom was droning on and on about Merlin knew what.

The door to the classroom slammed open.

"Mr. Potter," said the toad in a horrifically girly voice, "May I ask why you find yourself tardy on the first day of term?"

Potter appeared to be just as agitated by the women's false cheer as Draco was.

"I… got held up," he said, then he quickly added, "Professor."

"Well I hope whatever held you up was worth 10 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Now, if you'll kindly take your seat, we can resume as if this rude interruption never happened." The woman cleared her throat to continue, and Draco had to fight to keep from digging his nails into the desk.

"As I was saying," Umbridge continued, "Turn to page two in your textbook and - is there a _problem_ , Mr. Potter?"

Draco looked back to see Potter standing exactly where he had been, except now he was staring just to the left of the Slytherin.

Draco followed his gaze to the empty seat beside him.

The only empty seat in the class.

 _Fucking brilliant,_ thought Draco, even as his heart fluttered slightly. He ignored the traitorous organ and sent a glare towards the still-frozen Gryffindor.

Potter hesitantly stepped forward and claimed the empty seat, scooting his chair as far from Draco as he could.

The class proceeded to read quietly to themselves the portion of text that their too-pink professor assigned - until they were interrupted by Granger's hand in the air.

 _As if we needed this class to get even_ worse _,_ Draco mused.

He observed silently as Granger actually _challenged_ a professor. He would have been impressed if it hadn't been so idiotic. Honestly, hasn't she been listening to the pink toad's speech at the welcome feast? The ministry was trying to wriggle in to Hogwarts and regain some of the control that Potter had lost them by announcing the Dark Lord's return. And yet the brave, bushy idiot thought that it would be clever to ask why the ministry-approved Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum only included theoretical lessons?

One by one, the Gryffindors were all dragged into the debate. Draco could _feel_ Potter's anger spiraling out of control.

 _Don't say anything, Potter. Don't. Say. Anyth-_ but Draco's internal pleas were cut off by Potter blurting:

' **So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?'**

' **There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.'**

Umbridge's serene smile grew at the edges, and there was a glint in her eye that set Draco on edge. She was baiting Potter. She wanted to have this confrontation out in the open - a chance to deny his claims from last year.

Draco risked a glance at Potter. The wizard's brows were furrowed over his striking eyes. His posture was tense - fingers curled into fists, no doubt pressing angry semicircles into his palms. Despite his tanned complexion, Draco could see the unmistakable flush of rage beneath his cheeks.

He wasn't just rising to the bait, he was sprinting headlong into a trap.

"Quiet, Potter," Draco whispered through barely-moving lips. He didn't even know why he was interfering; he hated the stupid git!

But the stubborn wizard plunged onwards, yelling "There IS something out there, and we need to be ready for him - Lord Voldemort!"

Draco flinched.

Umbridge pounced, "Ten more points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for your _lies_."

Potter opened his mouth to snap at the frilly witch, but was cut off by a bark of startled pain as Draco kicked him in the shin under the table.

The dark-skinned wizard turned his emerald glare to Draco, who kept his eyes forward and carefully blank.

"Don't give her what she wants," Draco whispered.

Potter stared at him for a moment before turning his furious gaze onto the desk in front if him.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Umbridge said in her saccharine voice, "You have been told that a certain dark wizard has returned from the dead. This is a _lie._ What happened during the Triwizard Tournament last year was, indeed, a tragedy, but it was an _accident_."

Beside Draco, Potter gripped the desk until his knuckles turned white. Draco barely heard him whisper, "I _watched_ him die... I couldn't save him..."

Something about his voice cut Draco.

It was almost as if Potter needed to say the words out loud, even if he couldn't openly contradict the witch who was still prattling on at the front of the classroom.

Emerald eyes flicked towards Draco, as if just remembering he was there. They stared at each other for a moment, neither fully knowing how to respond. At a loss for what else to do, Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod. Potter stared at him a moment longer before returning to glare at the desk.

Umbridge finally finished her speech and set the class reading again. She seemed… disappointed that Potter had stopped responding. Draco smirked at that. It had been risky interfering like he did, but for some reason he didn't understand, he wanted Potter as far away from the woman as possible. Even though he still hated the Scarhead, of course.

He decided that, just this once, it had been worth the risk.

The rest of the class dragged on, and finally, after what seemed like hours if staring at the ministry-approved drivel, Umbridge dismissed the class.

Draco slowly began packing his things, ever aware of Potter sitting frozen beside him. After another few seconds had passed without the wizard moving, Draco sent a furtive glance sideways.

The other wizard was still staring at the desk in front of him, a large crease between his dark brows, oblivious to the motion of the dwindling class.

Draco turned his face away. He could imagine what Potter was seeing in his head...

Gulping at what he was about to do, Draco steeled himself before whispering, "You did well today, Potter."

Potter blinked, then flicked his green eyes towards Draco.

"What?"

"She was obviously trying to rile you up. You did well not to fall for it."

Potter drew a deep breath, "I would have… why did you stop me, Malfoy?"

Draco paused, unsure how to answer. Truth be told, he didn't know how to have a civil conversation with the man in the first place, as it had never really happened before.

Finally, he responded with a small sneer, "I may not like you, Potter, but I abhor that woman. I couldn't allow her to get what she wanted - even if that meant helping you not make a fool out of yourself."

Potter seemed to consider that for a moment.

"Well, I was going to thank you, but then I remembered the bruise on my shin," he responded.

One corner of Draco's mouth quirked up. Maybe they couldn't succeed at having a fully polite interaction, but he still rather… enjoyed it.

He put on his most superior smirk and stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"You're quite welcome, Potter."

And with that, he left the somewhat bewildered wizard to gather the rest of his things.

…

Harry Potter turned over in his bed, dreaming about long corridors. He was so close to the end, and something in him was urging him onwards. He reached out his hand towards the very last door –

Harry sat up straight in bed. He'd been having the same odd dream all summer, when he wasn't having nightmares. He much preferred wandering the corridor at night instead of revisiting the graveyard, but he didn't seem to have much choice in the matter.

Sighing, he rolled over, closing his eyes again and recasting a silencing charm on his four-poster, just in case. As his breaths became slower, he hoped against hope that he would actually get some rest that night. Even so, the last thing he saw before he drifted off was a pair of crystal grey eyes…

…

 _Last Year_

The smell of the early morning air flitted about on the playful wind, helping Harry stay awake. It was so _early,_ and he still felt sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes, but he was excited nonetheless.

The Quidditch World Cup. The match of the century. And he was actually going to watch it.

He followed the redheads through the tall grass, looking up when Mr. Weasley called to someone. Squinting his eyes in the early morning darkness, he was able to make out two figures approaching.

He took his glasses off and cleaned them roughly on his shirt before cramming them back on his face.

His heart skipped.

"'Ello, Amos. Beautiful morning, isn't it?" greeted Mr. Weasley, who then turned to address them, "Children, this is Mr. Diggory. I daresay you've met his son, Cedric. They'll be portkeying with us to the match."

"Great day for a match!" responded Amos Diggory, **"All these yours, Arthur?"**

 **"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is**

 **Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend -"**

 **"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"**

 **"Er - yeah," said Harry.**

 **Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the**

 **way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always**

 **made him feel uncomfortable.**

 **"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory.**

Harry fought down a blush and tried hard to return the smile Cedric sent his way.

They all exchanged hellos and fell into step, heading towards a small hill.

"So you're Harry Potter, are you?" Mr. Diggory asked, moving to walk beside him.

"Uh, yes sir," said Harry awkwardly.

" **My son's told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!** " Mr. Diggory laughed jovially.

Cedric, on the other side of his father, groaned, "Dad, I told you, it was an accident! There were Dementors-"

"Nonsense, my boy!" interrupted the older man, "You beat him fair and square! Made your father proud, you did! Best flier I've seen in ages. I'll be shocked if you don't get drafted to a professional team the second you leave Hogwarts."

Cedric looked mortified at his father's rant and kept shooting apologetic looks at Harry.

"Just you wait and see!" Mr. Diggory continued, "A few years from now, we'll all be portkeying in to watch my Ced in the Quidditch World Cup!"

Mr. Diggory continued boasting about his son as they started up the hill. Harry intentionally fell behind, unsure of how to react.

He was a bit surprised when Cedric fell back too, walking closely next to Harry.

"I'm sorry about him," said the sandy-haired boy quietly, "I must have told him a thousand times that I wouldn't stand a chance against you in a fair match."

"N-no, don't apologize," Harry stammered, shaking his head, "Your dad's just… proud of you."

Cedric laughed. It was a genuine sound that did funny things to Harry's insides.

"You seem like a very kind person, Potter," he beamed, "Too kind, even."

Harry blushed scarlet. Not knowing how else to respond, he simply said, "Harry. Call me Harry."

Cedric's smile grew bigger, if that was even possible.

"All right, Harry. And please, call me Cedric."

Harry swallowed and smiled back. At that moment, they crested the hill. The few rays of sun that were peeking over the far ridge seemed to brighten Cedric's face further, making his crystal grey eyes glow luminously. Harry swallowed again.

"We're here!" the other boy exclaimed, shaking Harry from his thoughts. He watched as Cedric ran forward a few paces, coming to a stop beside an old, rather moldy-looking boot.

"All right," Mr. Weasley announced, "Everyone grab hold, and mind you keep a firm grip!"

Harry, who had never traveled by portkey before, hesitantly reached forwards. Cedric motioned for Harry to stand next to him, and they both gripped the boot, Harry's left hand and Cedric's right almost touching. As the rather large group all gathered to grab the boot, Harry and Cedric were pushed closer and closer. Harry's heart beat so fast, he was sure Cedric could hear it. He briefly considered turning the other way so they wouldn't be face-to-face, but he quickly discarded the idea. When would he have a chance to be so close to him again? Despite the slight awkwardness, he decided to take advantage of the closeness.

They smiled at each other, chuckling a bit to release some of the tension.

Cedric smelled like wild grass and fresh air. Subtly, Harry took a deep breath, trying to memorize the scent.

"Here we go! We've got about ten seconds!" yelled Mr. Diggory, who had somehow managed to turn and check his wristwatch while also keeping hold of the boot.

They counted down to one, and Harry felt a pull from somewhere behind his naval. Then he was spinning wildly, colors whirling around him at top speed. He barely made out Cedric's delighted laughter beside him before his feet touched the ground.

Only Harry didn't stop there. The sudden lack of motion made him topple backwards, sprawling on the ground in a heap. He groaned slightly, before a hand appeared in front of him.

"All right, Harry?" Cedric asked. Harry could only nod and accept his hand.

Cedric pulled him to his feet, and Harry thanked him, still staring transfixed into joyous grey eyes.

Then Mr. Diggory called for his son. Cedric took a slow step backwards away from Harry, dropping his hand and saying, "I reckon I'll see you at Hogwarts."

"Yeah, reckon so," Harry replied dumbly, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

"Enjoy the match, Harry!" Cedric said before he turned and jogged towards his father.

Harry watched him for a moment before calling after him, "You too, Cedric!"

Harry realized he was staring, and he shook himself lightly. Ignoring Hermione's questioning look, he turned to follow the Weasleys to their campsite.

 _A/N – Thank you so much for reading, following, reviewing, etc.! This is my first Drarry fic, so… it's kinda experimental heh. Let me know what you think so far!_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Shuffling Parchment

Harry sat at his desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, trying not to let the overwhelmingly pink atmosphere nauseate him.

He had to admit, though, it was much easier to keep his stomach knowing that they were actually _doing_ something.

The DA. Dumbledore's Army. Sure, they had only met once in a preliminary sort of fashion, and yes, they'd somehow been found out after only one meeting, but none of that mattered. They would keep meeting. They would show that toad. They would be prepared.

The events of the graveyard wouldn't happen again. He wouldn't let anyone else… die.

As they always did when he sat in this classroom, Harry's thoughts drifted back to Cedric.

…

 _Last Year_

Harry panted, wiping a trickle of blood off his face with his sleeve.

Slowly, Cedric stood up.

"Thanks - for your help. I didn't even - see that spider thing coming," he said between breaths.

"No problem," Harry responded, putting his hands on his knees for a moment. **He looked down at his leg. It was bleeding freely. He could see some sort of thick, gluey secretion from the spider's pincers on his torn robes.**

Cedric stood up straight, motioning to the gleaming Triwizard Cup that stood innocently on a plinth just a few feet away from them.

"You - should take it - Harry," he said.

Harry shook his head, "No way!"

" **That's twice you've saved my neck in here** ," said the Hufflepuff, "First from Krum, and now from a giant spider. You deserve it more than me."

"No, I don't!" exclaimed Harry incredulously, "I had help, Ced. From you and from others…"

Cedric walked over to him, taking his hand.

"No, listen," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you."

"...Together, then?" Harry asked.

Cedric's breath caught, "You mean…"

"Well, we've done everything together for months now, including prepare for the tournament. We've been _together_ for months. I think it's high time we told everyone."

"Even though that Skeeter woman is here?" Cedric asked, concern tinting his voice, "Harry, this won't be a page twelve story. The whole wizarding world will talk about the Boy-Who-Lived and his no-name _boyfriend_ …"

"I don't care what they say about us," the dark-skinned wizard scolded, thinking about the rubbish article that had been published about him just that morning, "Rita Skeeter has made up every conceivable story about me this year, and I just don't care about them anymore… but," he took a deep breath, "I do care about _you,_ Ced."

Cedric mirrored the huge grin plastered on his boyfriend's face, and he leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"Together," Cedric nodded, squeezing Harry's hand in his.

Simultaneously, they both reached for a handle of the Cup-

…

 _Present Day_

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by someone sitting down beside him.

He looked around, as if only just realizing where he was. Turning, he saw Malfoy in the seat next to him, one blond eyebrow raised in question.

Harry nodded minutely. One corner of Malfoy's lips quirked up before he began pulling out parchment, quill, and ink.

Harry had to admit that being forced to sit next to the blond hadn't been nearly as bad as he expected. The two had somehow managed to not kill each other. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be an unspoken sort of truce between them ever since Malfoy stopped Harry getting himself detention on the first day of class.

Harry still had no idea why the Slytherin had stepped in (even if he _did_ bruise Harry's shin). Regardless, he was grateful for the other boy's interference. Even if it had only just delayed the inevitable…

He looked down at his hand.

 _I must not tell lies._

Harry hadn't escaped detention with Umbridge. It had come the very next class. He hadn't _entirely_ lost his temper, but it seemed that Umbridge was desperate for a reason to punish him.

One tiny comment had landed him a week's worth of evenings in the toad's office, scratching away - literally - with her special quill.

The words were beginning to sink into the skin on the back of his hand.

Harry pulled his oversized sleeve down to cover the scars.

Looking up, he saw dark gray eyes fixed on his.

Malfoy stared at him a moment longer, expression unreadable.

"Good afternoon, class!" came a simpering voice from the front of the classroom.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class - except for Harry and Malfoy - chanted back at her.

Malfoy turned his gaze forward, leaving Harry slightly puzzled. Why had he been staring at him so intently?

Harry looked away, noticing that the rest of the class was turning to a page of their textbook. He quickly fumbled for his copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard and started flipping pages randomly. He leaned forward towards Hermione to see if he could catch a glimpse of the correct page, but she was already hunching down to read.

"Page 42," came a small whisper.

Harry nodded his silent thanks to Malfoy and turned to the specified page. He started to read the words, but his brain simply wouldn't let him concentrate. Instead, he began thinking about what he could cover during their first DA meeting…

A piece of parchment slid under Harry's book.

He froze, flicking his eyes sideways to glance at Malfoy.

He was reading studiously, or so it appeared. His blue-gray eyes didn't seem to be following the lines on the page…

Slowly, Harry pulled the parchment out and read the neat script:

 _Potter -_

 _The next time you hold a secret meeting, you really ought to make it more secret. Umbridge knows about your little group, as I'm sure you're aware. Be careful. She's on the lookout for anything untoward, and she has a special place for you in her horrendously pink heart. She'd jump at the chance to get you expelled. Don't do anything stupid. And if you do, at least be better at hiding it._

 _-DM_

Harry stared at the note, then read it once more through to be sure he wasn't imagining things. He reached for his quill and his pot of color-changing ink. Dipping the quill haphazardly, he scrawled a reply:

 _Why do you care?_

Carefully, Harry slid the parchment back across the table. Malfoy deftly slipped it underneath his book without even looking up from the notes he was taking.

A minute later, Harry felt the parchment being stealthily pushed back towards him. He accepted it under the guise of shuffling his stack of notes, and then he read:

 _I_ don't _care, Potter, aside from the fact that I'd have to find a new deskmate. Not everyone so readily accepts being kicked under the table, and I'd hate to have to start all over with someone new._

Harry snorted, taking a moment to look to his right; Malfoy seemed like he was actually reading now. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and sucked lightly on it. Harry followed the motion out of the corner of his eyes. He'd never really noticed before, but Malfoy's lips were full and, well, pretty - when they weren't pulled into a nasty sneer.

Harry then realized that he'd been staring at the Slytherin's mouth, and he quickly glanced up to make sure that he hadn't been caught - but Malfoy was peering straight at him. He released his bottom lip, and Harry watched as it went pale for a moment and then faded into a darker shade of pink.

Dragging his eyes back up to meet Malfoy's, Harry hoped to Merlin that his thoughts hadn't been too obvious…

Turning away, he shook his head and dipped his quill again, writing:

 _I wouldn't deal with it if you had better aim. But lucky for me, you've only managed to land 1 kick out of, what? 17? You'd be awful at football, you know that?_

Malfoy gave the parchment a small scowl.

 _What's football?_

Harry rolled his eyes; of _course_ Malfoy had never heard of football.

 _Muggle sport. Two teams try to kick a ball into the opposite team's goal._

Harry watched Malfoy's eyes light up as he read the note.

 _Like Quidditch? Muggles have their own version of Quidditch?_

Harry had to cough to hide his chuckle.

 _Sort of, but they run around on a field instead of flying on brooms, and they only have one ball instead of three._

Harry flicked his eyes towards the other wizard, then dipped his quill again, drawing a cartoon of a man kicking a football into a goal, right past another man's head as he dove to stop it. Harry had never been much of an artist (he remembered Aunt Petunia throwing all of his drawings in the bin when he was young because of how horrid they were). Still, he was rather proud of his sketch. Even if the players were a bit disproportionate, he felt like he managed to capture the movement of the game.

Harry slid the parchment carefully back towards Malfoy, who quickly read the note before inspecting the drawing. His pale features were blank as usual, but there was a light in his eyes that captured Harry's attention. One corner of Malfoy's full mouth trembled slightly, as if he was trying to hide a smile.

Harry leaned back in his seat and stifled a grumbling complaint. _I'd like to see Malfoy draw something better,_ he thought sullenly. Then he remembered a paper crane note fluttering to him in their third year, containing - Harry begrudgingly admitted - a rather _clever_ moving sketch of him, Harry, being struck by lightning during a Quidditch match. His mood darkened. He had actually been _enjoying_ their little conversation; now Malfoy would doubtless fall back on his favorite pastime of mocking Harry.

Movement in Harry's peripheral vision drew his eye. Malfoy was stealthily extracting his wand. Harry had half a mind to brace himself for a jinx, but the pale wizard pointed the wand at… the parchment?

Harry leaned forward again and almost snatched the parchment from Malfoy when he passed it. Harry glanced upwards quickly to ensure that Umbridge still hadn't caught on, but the toad-like woman was standing up. Harry hastily shoved the parchment into the pages of his textbook and tried to look innocent.

Umbridge, however, simply announced, "That will be all for today, class. Take care that you finish the chapter and answer all the questions at the end for next week."

With a girlish little courtesy, she dismissed them.

Malfoy was already packing his things. Hurriedly, Harry extracted the parchment and examined it.

 _I might actually like to see that, Potter. Even if it is Muggles._

Harry snorted again, but was quickly distracted. His drawing was _moving._ He watched as one little figure kicked the football, which went flying towards the goal. The other man gasped and gave a wild leap, diving towards the ball and just missing it as it slammed into the net of the goal. Harry grinned.

He looked up, but Malfoy was gone. Harry whipped his head around and caught a flash of blond hair by the door.

Malfoy paused in the doorway, turning his face back slightly so that he could see Harry, and smiled.

The prat actually _smiled_ , and Harry's grin grew a bit wider. He turned to gather his things, tucking the parchment carefully into his textbook, and joined Ron and Hermione as they walked to their next class.

This year had been brutal. His friends tried vainly to cheer him up, but they acted like he was fragile, like he was going to explode.

Who would have thought that the best thing about this year - the thing that had cheered him up the most - would be Draco Malfoy?

 _Last Year_

Harry walked slowly forwards, trying not to panic. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and he did his best not to shrink back under the weight of their scrutiny. He finally reached the door and practically fled through it, only to be confronted with more stares. This time, though, the stares were confused, and they came from only a few sets of eyes instead of hundreds.

Harry froze just inside the entryway. Unsure how to answer the questions being flung at him, he simply stayed silent.

This seemed to irritate Fleur Delacour, who huffed at his lack of response. Viktor Krum merely crossed his arms, looking slightly surly. Harry couldn't bring himself to look towards Cedric.

Then more people flooded the room, bringing shouts of displeasure and accusation. Harry looked from angry face to angry face, wanting to simply disappear on the spot. He wished, not for the first time, that he could bring his invisibility cloak with him wherever he went.

Only Dumbledore's calm voice was able to break through his stupor: "Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, Headmaster," Harry replied in a small voice.

"'E ees lying!" exclaimed Madame Maxime.

Harry risked a glance towards Cedric. The sandy-haired boy was looking confused and concerned, his blue eyes flicking to everyone's faces as they spoke. He took a small step towards Harry, who immediately averted his gaze.

Finally, Mad-Eye spoke up, gruffly stating, "Potter couldn't have tricked such a powerful magical object by himself. Regardless, he's bound now. He has to compete in the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry's stomach dropped to the floor.

There was a bit more yelling before everyone dispersed. Harry walked mechanically out of the room, noting that the Great Hall was empty. Everyone else must already be in their dormitories.

His feet carried him towards the door, but he was stopped by a small voice saying, "Harry?"

He whipped around, finding himself standing in front of the last person he wanted to see at that moment.

"Cedric," he said dumbly. The other boy offered a wan smile. A wave of guilt washed over Harry. Hufflepuff rarely had much spotlight; they rarely had the opportunity for glory. And yet here Harry was, stealing it all away - not just from Hufflepuff, but from Cedric himself. Harry felt sick.

Suddenly, he needed to tell him - needed him to know.

"Cedric, I didn't put my name in," he blurted, "I don't want anything to do with this stupid tournament! I don't know who would want me here, but wasn't me; _please_ believe me, I-"

"Harry, it's okay," Cedric interrupted, motioning for him to calm down, "I believe you."

"You - _what_?"

"I believe you. I don't think you put your name in the Goblet of Fire," said the Hufflepuff calmly.

"Oh…" said Harry, obviously confused.

"I just," Cedric began hesitantly, "I just wanted to ask - are you all right?"

Harry blinked, "Am I all right?"

"Yeah," he responded with a more genuine smile, "Things got a bit rough in there. I just wanted to check and make sure that you're, you know, all right."

Cedric ran a hand through his hair in an embarrassed sort of way. Despite everything that had just happened, Harry smiled. It was a small smile, true, but a smile nonetheless.

"I'll be all right. I may not survive past the first task, but I'll be all right," Harry joked in an effort to lighten the mood.

A wrinkle appeared between Cedric's brows. He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it lightly, "Just… just be careful, Harry. I don't know who put your name in that goblet, but… watch your back, will you?"

Harry's stomach did a happy sort of flop at Cedric's obvious concern. He nodded, "I will."

Cedric nodded back, hand dropping to his side. For a second, it looked like he might say something else, but instead he nodded again, smiling, and headed towards the entrance hall.

"Cedric!" Harry called.

The other boy turned, smile still on his face.

"Thank you."

"What for?" asked Cedric.

"For believing me," answered Harry.

Cedric's smile grew, and Harry took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"Anytime, Harry," he said. He left the Great Hall after sending a small wink in Harry's direction.

Harry stood in the middle of the hall for a moment longer.

Okay, so he was magically bound to compete in a historically deadly tournament that he was vastly unqualified for… but at least Cedric believed him. Cedric was watching out for him. Cedric might even... _care_ for him. With a deep breath, Harry headed towards Gryffindor Tower.

 _A/N – I know I'm kinda pulling from books as well as movies here. I tend to stay pretty loyal to the books, but there are a couple of little details in the movies that I just love (like the paper crane note that Draco sent). Let me know your thoughts! And thanks to all who continue to read, follow, favorite, and review. You have no idea how much you inspire me._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Froggy Features

 _A/N – I just realized that all of my dividers that separate sections didn't get uploaded properly (yayyy) so I've reuploaded the previous chapters along with this one. Hopefully this makes a bit more sense._

 _Present Day_

Draco strolled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, head held high as usual. He settled gracefully into his seat next to Potter, who had miraculously managed to make it to class early.

Draco made a show of bringing out his ink, quill, textbook, and parchment. He painstakingly cleaned the nib of his favourite eagle feather quill on a soft square of cloth before dipping it into the inkpot.

Anyone watching would assume him to be the ever-devoted student.

What they didn't know, however, was that Draco's enthusiasm didn't stem from the subject. Of course not; the toad made sure that they didn't learn anything useful in this class. Rather, it stemmed from the other activity that had become his habit during these lessons.

Passing notes with Harry Potter.

Draco smiled inwardly at the thought as he pressed his quill to parchment.

 _Afternoon, Scarhead._

 _I do hope you're prepared for yet another action-packed DADA lesson. This one's sure to leave us with crucial knowledge of defensive spells._

He furtively slid the note to the dark-skinned wizard beside him, lips twitching when he heard the man's amused scoff.

A moment later, Draco read:

 _Oh yes. I stayed up all night, too excited to sleep._

Draco glanced over at Potter, whose eyes were full of mirth. Draco noted that it _did_ appear as though the the Gryffindor had been up all night. The shadows on his face were even darker than usual...

At that moment, Umbridge stood up from her desk at the front of the room.

"Good afternoon class," the toad chanted in her high-pitched voice.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," responded the students.

"Today, you will continue your reading. And do remember that one cannot read if one is talking, so please maintain a nice, quiet environment."

She tapped her wand to the board, revealing swoopy cursive that spelled out their assigned pages.

Draco and Potter shared a brief glance of amusement. Exciting class, indeed.

The blond opened his textbook dutifully, then penned a note back to Potter:

 _Have you ever noticed that when our esteemed professor stands, she's actually shorter than when she sits?_

Draco handed the note off covertly, reveling in the tell-tale snort that indicated it had been read.

He secretly savored how it felt to make Potter laugh. He would make dry observations or ask sarcastic questions throughout their lessons, and Potter would always respond the same way: the edges of his eyes would crinkle, he would fold his lips in to keep from smiling openly, then he would exhale a short puff of air through his nose in a delighted snort.

It made Draco's stomach flip pleasantly every time.

Potter slid the parchment back to him:

 _Does she ever remind you of an oversized toad? Especially when she wears that ghastly black velvet bow. It looks like_ _ **a large fly she's about to catch on a long sticky tongue.**_

Draco had to grip the desk hard to keep from laughing. He imagined that he may not have kept his face entirely blank, though, as he caught Potter's satisfied smirk out of the corner of his eye.

 _I've had the same impression since I first laid eyes on her. The way her mouth sort of goes slack… I bet you 5 galleons that her favourite sweet is Cockroach Clusters._

Potter let a small smile escape before he tucked his lips in again. He took his time responding, and Draco realized that he was sketching again.

It had become something of a tradition for Potter to draw a little cartoon about their conversations, which Draco then animated with a quick charm he'd learned back in third year. The blond covertly extracted his wand from his sleeve in preparation.

Finally, the parchment was slipped back towards him. He read the note first ( _You're on! I bet it's Fudge Flies!)_ before he glanced at the drawing.

He smirked. It was cleverly done; Potter's skills were improving. Draco tapped the parchment, making the cartoon Umbridge flick her long tongue at a passing Fudge Fly. She even had a fuzzy pink sweater and black velvet bow perched precariously atop her mop of curly hair. It was a true likeness, even if Potter exaggerated her froggy features a bit. Draco was honestly impressed.

He glanced up at the toad herself. He was slightly startled to see her narrowed eyes trained on Potter, who was obviously pretending to read.

Draco swallowed a rush of loathing for the woman. Dipping his quill, he wrote:

 _You are being careful, aren't you?_

The Gryffindor's eyebrows pulled together.

 _Yeah, why?_

Draco rolled his eyes. The man needed to be more observant.

 _Because, in case you didn't notice,_ you're _the Fudge Fly she's after, Potter. She'd do anything to catch you and your little study group._

 _I've got it covered, Malfoy. We found a place to hold our lessons. There's no way she'll catch us._

Draco read the response with a small scoff of disbelief.

 _It's not just some abandoned classroom, is it Potter? Because she has the prefects checking them thoroughly on a slightly different schedule each day. You really must be cautious._

It was Potter's turn to scoff. He scribbled a reply and slid the parchment halfway between them so Draco could read:

 _Your concern is_ _touching_ _, Malfoy. Really. And so is your confidence in me. Honestly, you'd think I was some bright-eyed first year!_

Draco simply gave Potter a dry look, which Potter returned before pulling the parchment back to himself and adding:

 _Would it help if you saw the place we meet?_

Draco's heart stuttered a bit. Potter really trusted him that much?

He risked a glance to the side, and his pale eyes met green ones. He nodded minutely.

Potter scribbled another note: _Tonight, after dinner. 7th floor hallway, by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy._

Draco nodded again. Suddenly he couldn't wait for the evening to come.

…

 _Last Year_

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry stopped, looking back. His heart gave a lurch when he saw Cedric heading towards him. The group of Hufflepuffs he'd been with were all glaring at Harry, but Cedric ignored them.

The sandy-haired boy took a few steps forward, stopping in front of him.

"Hey, Harry," he said again.

His easy smile quickly spread to Harry too, who responded, "Hey, Cedric."

The two looked at each other for a moment before Cedric said, "So, er… have you had any luck with your egg?"

Harry didn't want to admit that he hadn't been able to work out the clue for the Second Task yet. He _definitely_ didn't want to admit that he hadn't even started…

"I'm, uh, working on it," he replied evasively.

Cedric nodded, "Well, I found that… a good bath really helps."

Harry blinked, "A what?"

Chuckling, Cedric repeated, "A bath. You're welcome to use the Prefects' bathroom if you'd like. The password is 'Pine-fresh'. I suggest just… taking your egg in there and having a nice, long soak. Trust me."

He winked.

Harry had to shake himself.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked.

"Well, we're friends, aren't we?"

Harry's heart sank a bit, "Yeah. Yeah, we're friends."

"Besides," Cedric lowered his voice, "I owe you for tipping me off about the dragons. I wouldn't have made it out of there if it weren't for you."

Harry did his best to smile convincingly, "Don't mention it."

With a wave, Cedric returned to his friends.

Harry turned, letting the smile melt away. Cedric was so _confusing_. There were times when Harry was convinced that he felt something too… but then he'd go and say they were just friends.

Harry sighed.

He had to stop thinking like this. Cedric had gone with _Cho_ to the Yule Ball. For all Harry knew, Cedric was not only _straight_ but also in love with a Ravenclaw! He'd only helped Harry to pay him back for his tip about the dragons in the First Task.

He couldn't _fancy_ someone who only saw him as a friend. No matter how handsome that someone was. No matter how he'd looked in his tailored dress robes, swaying and spinning around a dance floor with the type of grace that Harry could never hope to obtain…

No, no! He was spinning a _girl_ around the dance floor!

Harry groaned. He was hopeless. But he would at least take Cedric up on his offer and use the Prefect bathroom. Maybe it would help…

…

 _Present Day_

Harry leant against the wall on the seventh floor, arms crossed, foot tapping on the stone floor. He checked his wristwatch again. He heaved a sigh.

Finally, he heard footsteps.

He turned towards the tapestry, so that on the off-chance the footsteps didn't belong to Malfoy, he could pretend he was pausing to inspect it.

"What _are_ you doing, Potter?" came a familiar drawl. Harry's heart beat a little faster.

"Waiting for _you,_ you prat," he responded with a cheeky grin.

Malfoy smirked, "Well? Are you going to show me this oh-so-clever meeting place, or are we going to stare at this revolting tapestry all night?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Just you wait. Stand right there for a moment."

He turned and walked by the blank stretch of wall, thinking about the DA meeting room. Bookshelves with reference texts, small mound of cushions.

Then he whipped around and walked the opposite direction, still picturing the room.

By the time he turned around again, he could sense that Malfoy was about to say something stupid. He held out a fist towards the blond, index finger raised in an attempt to stave off the sarcastic comment.

Malfoy managed to say, "Honestly, Potter, will you-" before he froze.

A door had appeared in the stone wall beside Harry, who simply waved the bewildered man inside with a very self-satisfied smile.

He watched the normally stoic Slytherin gawk at the DA room, taking all of it in. Harry simply stood back, pretending to examine his nails, and waited for the other man to congratulate him on his cleverness.

Okay, so it hadn't been _his_ cleverness - Dobby was the one who had found the room and showed Harry how to use it - but Malfoy didn't need to know that piece of information just yet.

Especially when he looked so dumb-founded.

"How did you do this?" was the only thing he seemed able to say.

"It just… came to me," Harry answered smugly.

"Well, I don't suppose I need to worry about you as much anymore."

Harry laughed, "I suppose not. Honestly, it's a wonder you worry about me at all."

Malfoy's features stiffened slightly, "As I've said many times before: I despise that toad woman, and if I can do anything to thwart her little scheme, I will. So long as it doesn't require me to do anything too _drastic_."

Harry's heart fell a bit, then he chastised himself. _What does it matter if Malfoy worries? It's not as if I care what he thinks._

"So tell me, Potter, what do you lot do here, anyways?" Malfoy asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Harry responded a bit harsher than was necessary, "We practice actual _Defense_."

Malfoy raised a blond eyebrow, "Is that right? And who's in charge of this… Dumbledore's Army?"

Harry whipped around; Malfoy was facing away from him, inspecting the parchment they'd all signed at their very first meeting in The Hog's Head.

"Er… I am, actually," Harry shrugged before adding quickly, "The name is sort of a joke. I don't reckon Dumbledore even knows what we do here."

"I see…" Malfoy drawled. He continued staring at the parchment. He turned his head to the side rather awkwardly for a moment, and Harry guessed that he was reading Luna's name, which she had written upside down. Harry felt a small trickle of fear settle in his stomach that grew the longer Malfoy looked at the parchment. Was he memorizing the names so he could report back to Umbridge? Had this whole friendship between them, or whatever it was, been a trap?

"Well," said the blond, turning back to face Harry, "Show me what you've got."

"I - _what?_ " Harry asked.

"You heard me, Potter," Malfoy drawled, a growing smirk making him look nothing short of mischievous, "You teach all of these people Defense; show me what you've got."

He extracted his wand and stepped towards the center of the room, squaring off with Harry, who just stood there dumbly.

Malfoy's smirk grew even further, "Scared, Potter?"

Harry grinned, finally catching his cue.

"You wish."

 _A/N – Sorry for the long break everyone! I really had planned on updating much more regularly, but life had different plans. Still, I had so much fun writing this chapter! Please let me know what you think of it. And thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed so far!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Falling Water Droplets

 _Present Day - Room of Requirement_

 **At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.**

 **ʹYouʹre getting really good,ʹ he said, beaming around at them. ʹWhen we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff** **‐** **maybe even**

 **Patronuses.ʹ**

 **There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos**

 **and threes; most people wished Harry a ʹHappy Christmasʹ as they went. Feeling**

 **cheerful, he collected up the cushions with Ron and Hermione and stacked them**

 **neatly away.**

 **Ron and Hermione left before he did; he hung back a little.** He thought he might get a head-start on his lesson ideas for next term. Besides, he had a suspicion that Malfoy might show up later, wanting to get in one more dueling session before leaving for the Manor for the holidays...

 **Harry turned and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.**

 **ʹWha—?ʹ**

 **He didnʹt know what to do. She was simply standing there, crying silently.**

 **ʹWhatʹs up?ʹ he said, feebly.**

 **She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.**

 **ʹIʹm** **‐** **sorry,ʹ she said thickly. ʹI suppose... itʹs just... learning all this stuff... it just**

 **makes me... wonder whether... if** _ **heʹd**_ **known it all... heʹd still be alive.ʹ**

 **Harryʹs heart sank right back past its usual spot and settled somewhere around**

 **his navel.** He took a deep breath, trying in vain to clear some of the weight that had settled on his chest.

 **ʹHe did know this stuff,ʹ Harry said heavily. ʹHe was really good at it, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you donʹt stand a chance.ʹ**

 **She hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemortʹs name, but stared at Harry without flinching.**

 **ʹYou survived when you were just a baby,ʹ she said quietly.**

 **ʹYeah, well,ʹ said Harry wearily, moving towards the door, ʹI dunno why nor**

 **does anyone else, so itʹs nothing to be proud of.ʹ**

 **ʹOh, donʹt go!ʹ said Cho, sounding tearful again. ʹIʹm really sorry to get all upset**

 **like this... I didnʹt mean to...ʹ**

 **She hiccoughed again... Harry felt thoroughly miserable...**

 **ʹI know it must be horrible for you,ʹ she said, mopping her eyes on her sleeve**

 **again. ʹMe mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die…'**

Harry flinched as she said it - actually _said it_ out loud.

She continued, **'I suppose you just want to forget about it?ʹ**

 _I could never forget about it_ , he thought to himself, but he said nothing.

 **ʹYouʹre a r** **‐** **really good teacher, you know,ʹ said Cho, with a watery smile. ʹIʹve**

 **never been able to Stun anything before.ʹ**

 **Thanks,ʹ said Harry awkwardly.**

 **They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry felt a burning desire to run**

 **from the room and, at the same time, a complete inability to move his feet.**

 **ʹMistletoe,ʹ said Cho quietly, pointing at the ceiling over his head.**

 **ʹYeah,ʹ said Harry. His mouth was very dry. ʹItʹs probably full of Nargles, though.ʹ**

 **ʹWhat are Nargles?ʹ**

 **ʹNo idea,ʹ said Harry. She had moved closer. His brain seemed to have been**

 **Stunned. ʹYouʹd have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean.ʹ**

 **Cho made a funny noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. She was even**

 **nearer to him now. He could have counted the freckles on her nose.**

 **ʹI really like you, Harry.ʹ**

 **He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading through him, paralysing**

 **his arms, legs and brain.**

 **She was much too close. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes…**

And then she was kissing him.

It was like Harry's brain had shut down partially. He could only stand there while she moved her chapped lips against his, scraping slightly. He could still hear her sniffling.

He could taste the salt of her tears.

Immediately, Harry pulled away, breathing hard.

"Harry?" Cho asked, a little frightened.

But he couldn't respond. He could only taste salt, smell dirt. Image after image flashed through his mind. He collapsed on the stack of cushions that he'd just straightened.

"Harry!" Cho exclaimed, and the dark-skinned wizard's eyes shot open. He focused on the ground. The ground was stone, not dirt.

He looked up. No gravestones. No cauldron. He was in the Room of Requirement.

"I'm sorry, Cho," he managed to choke out.

She was crying even harder, terrified at his sudden episode. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded, forcing himself to take deep breaths, just like he'd taught himself to do.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized again. How could he explain the thousand reasons why he didn't want to kiss her? "I'm not- I can't-"

"No, I'm sorry, Harry," she interrupted. She was still crying, but she'd calmed down enough to give him a watery smile, "I don't… this was a bad idea. I don't think I'm ready for anything like this."

Harry nodded again, relieved beyond words that he wouldn't have to explain why _he_ thought it was a bad idea, too.

She gave a small hiccough that could have been a laugh, "I can't even kiss someone without crying. I'm a mess!"

Harry knew how she felt. He couldn't kiss someone, especially her, without going into a near panic.

"I'll…" Cho took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, "I'll see you around, Harry. Happy Christmas."

And with one more small smile, she left.

Harry sat there, among the fallen cushions, letting his mind go where it wanted, still breathing deeply.

In and out. In and out...

...

 _Last Year_

Harry traipsed along the stone hallway, stopping in front of a door with a large "P" engraved in stone on its surface. He said the password Cedric had given him and opened the door.

Harry was stunned by the sheer size of the bathroom. It had a tall, arching ceiling with a beautiful stained glass window of a mermaid, who was currently sleeping. On one side of the room was the tub, which was large enough to swim in. On the other side of the room were a few sinks situated below a large mirror. Standing in front of that mirror was none other than Cedric.

Harry stared at him. Cedric was standing with his back to Harry; a towel was tied low around his hips, exposing a tanned, muscular back dotted in droplets of water. Green eyes followed the movement of one of the droplets as it slowly made a trail downwards. Harry gulped.

Suddenly, Cedric looked up. Their eyes met.

"Harry!" he exclaimed with a smile, turning to face the dark-skinned boy, "You took my advice!"

Harry was momentarily stunned. Cedric was _gorgeous_. His lean Seeker physique was breathtaking, especially when Harry traced the two lines on his hips that disappeared below his towel…

Harry adjusted his grip on the egg, positioning it in front of him so that Cedric wouldn't be able to see how much he affected him.

"...Harry?" he asked again.

"Yes!" Harry answered quickly, brain finally catching up with the conversation, "Yes, I took your advice. I didn't think you'd _be here_ , though. I'm, er, sorry for interrupting, I'll just come back later."

"No, please don't leave on my account," Cedric waved him further in, "I was just leaving after I get dressed. Thought I'd have a quick bath before my rounds."

Harry took a few tentative steps in, still struggling to keep his eyes on Cedric's face.

Cedric was looking at him curiously, "Are you all right, Harry?" He stepped close, grey eyes searching Harry for any sign of injury. Harry watched as his eyes flicked down to Harry's lips, lingering there for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Harry responded in a low voice.

Cedric nodded, stepping back and still looking slightly concerned.

"Well, I need to get dressed…" he said, looking away for a moment.

"Right!" Harry said, laughing nervously, "I'll just step out into the hall-"

"Don't bother with all that, just turn around."

Harry gulped again, gripping the egg tighter, and turning to face the wall behind him. He could hear the soft rustling of the towel, and he tried not to imagine the scene behind him.

 _Come on, think of something else! Your broomstick servicing kit!_ Harry thought desperately, _'Firmly grasp your broom by the tail' - no, no, that's not working!_

He shook his head a little, when he heard Cedric say with a laugh, "All right, there's nothing over here to blind you now."

Harry seriously doubted that, but he turned around nonetheless.

Cedric was still shirtless, but he had added a pair of trousers and rid himself of the remaining water droplets. Harry still had to concentrate on keeping his gaze up.

"So," Cedric began, a serious tone to his voice, "Have you been able to find out who put your name in the Goblet?"

Harry shook his head morosely, "No, I've been too busy concentrating on how to get past a dragon and learning to dance for the ball…"

Cedric laughed, and a balloon inflated in Harry's chest.

"Well I recall thinking that you moved quite well at the ball. I saw a number of jealous looks in the direction of your date. Are you and Patil…?" he trailed off, making it a question.

"No!" Harry said a bit too quickly, "No, er… Padma is great and all, but she's not exactly… my type."

Cedric nodded in understanding.

Harry pressed on, not allowing himself the chance to chicken out, "And what about you and Cheng?"

Cedric's smile faded slightly, "She's great too… but I'm not sure if she's really my type either."

The balloon in Harry's chest seemed to expand.

"What, exactly, is your type then?" he ventured.

"Well, I suppose, er…" Cedric stumbled slightly over his words, glancing down and brushing his hand through his hair, "I've always liked more-"

But at that moment, a silvery figure zoomed up through the floor.

"Myrtle?" Harry asked, surprised.

Giggling, the ghost answered, "Hi, Harry."

Cedric gave Moaning Myrtle a small wave before hurriedly grabbing his shirt and doing it up, ignoring the her obvious ogling.

"Well, Harry, I'll - er - leave you to it, then."

"Right. Um, see you later, Cedric."

Harry watched, disappointed, as the other boy retreated towards the door.

"Oh, Harry," he said, turning in the entranceway, "Do feel free to use the Prefect bathroom any time. Being a Hogwarts Champion has to come with some benefits, right?"

He smiled again, and then he was gone.

Harry stayed staring at the door for a minute or so longer, a dopey grin on his face, before Myrtle roused him from his thoughts:

"It's good to see you again, Harry. You haven't visited my toilet in _ages._ "

Harry kept himself from wincing, "Oh, yeah, sorry Myrtle. Things have been a bit busy recently. Say, I need to take a bath. Could you, er, give me a bit of privacy?"

Myrtle's expression fell, but she left, saying that she'd return in a bit so they could talk.

Harry turned one of the taps to the bath, marvelling at the different scents and bubbles that poured into the tub, filling it to the brim.

He quickly got in, allowing his thoughts to return to Cedric, and wishing that Myrtle hadn't interrupted their conversation.

He could have sworn, the way his eyes kept flicking towards Harry's… but no. Even if he _was_ gay, there's no way that he would even notice Harry.

But he had, hadn't he? He specifically sought him out to speak to him on more than one occasion. And he'd been concerned for Harry's safety…

And the way he'd done up his shirt so quickly when Myrtle came in, like he didn't want her to see him half naked… but he'd had no problem being shirtless in front of Harry. In fact, he specifically told Harry not to leave…

But none of that would matter if he didn't like blokes. Harry wished there was a spell for that sort of thing, because as much as he might want to, he could never ask Cedric outright…

...

"Are you gay?" Harry asked.

Cedric burst out laughing, and a blush bloomed under Harry's dark cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I asked, it just sort of happened…" Harry mumbled, quickly getting to his feet and heading for the door.

"No, Harry, wait!" Cedric said, grabbing his arm as he made to leave, "I was just caught off guard that you asked straight out!"

Cedric motioned for Harry to sit back down by the edge of the bath, as had become their custom. Reluctantly, Harry took his seat and, pulling up his pant legs again, dipped his feet back in the water.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly, looking down at the purple and blue bubbles, "I was just confused, because I thought you might be, but then you took Cheng to the ball, and in the Second Task she was the one thing you'd miss most, and... You really don't have to answer…"

"No, it's fine," Cedric said, waving off his comment, "You and I have been friends for a while now, and I'm not exactly subtle."

Harry looked up at him, "So… you are, then?"

"Well, not exactly."

Harry just kept looking at him, confused.

"I don't really see it so black and white, you know?" Cedric continued, "It's not so much about being attracted to a person's gender as it is the actual person - their personality, attitude, sense of humor."

"So you could see yourself… fancying a bloke?"

Cedric smiled his easy, genuine smile, "Sure. If the right one came along and he fancied me too, I could easily see myself falling for a bloke."

Harry gripped the side of the bath in an attempt to steady himself, for he'd gone suddenly dizzy. Cedric _was_ gay - well, sort of. Still… could that mean…?

"You and Cheng, though…" Harry trailed off.

Cedric shook his head, "Cho and I are just friends."

"But… but the Second Task-"

"I broke it off with her before the Second Task. I guess that the staff hadn't gotten wind of it in time," he shrugged.

Harry's brain seemed to have shut down temporarily. "You broke it off with her?"

"Yeah," Cedric replied, "She's really is brilliant, and pretty, and... but there was just something missing. I talked to her about it right before they called her away to be a 'hostage'. She was rather upset at first, but said she understood. Actually, she really seemed to come around after I rescued her from the lake. She said that she'd always be there if I change my mind. I just don't think that will happen. There was no, er…"

"Chemistry?" Harry supplied.

"What's chemistry?"

Right; Cedric was a pureblood. Harry fixed his eyes on the ground as he spoke, "It's like a spark between two people that draws them together."

"Yeah…" said Cedric, "There was no chemistry." He said the word slowly, as if tasting it on his tongue, before he continued.

"What about you, Harry?"

"What? Me?" Harry stammered.

"Yeah, you. Do you prefer blokes?"

Harry gulped.

He'd never said it out loud before.

"Yeah," he admitted in a small voice, eyes fixed on the water in front of him.

His hand felt suddenly warm. Looking down, he saw that Cedric had covered it with his own.

Steeling himself, he raised his eyes to Cedric's.

He had to stifle a gasp. Cedric was much closer than he'd thought, and he was leaning in even further.

Harry barely heard what the other boy said next through the pounding in his ears.

"Good, because if you didn't, this would be a bit odd…"

Harry's heart nearly exploded out of his chest as Cedric's lips touched his own. He'd never felt anything like this before. He leaned forwards into the kiss and hoped Cedric couldn't hear his heart pounding.

After a long moment, Cedric pulled away.

"Chemistry," he stated simply. Then he smiled.

Harry had always appreciated Cedric's smile - always so easy-going, so real - but this one, _this_ smile was something different.

It was pure joy.

And it was just for Harry.

 _A/N – There you are! A sort-of-Christmas chapter on Halloween. I tried to make it a bit longer to make up for how long it's been since I've posted. I hope you like it!_

 _Thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, and favorited this story. And a special thanks to my reviewers – you are seriously the best. Happy Halloween to you all!_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Feeling of Drowning

 _A/N – Merry Christmas to you all! Here's my gift to you. I hope you enjoy it. As always, your feedback is priceless – thank you._

" _I'll…" Cho took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, "I'll see you around, Harry. Happy Christmas."_

 _And with one more small smile, she left._

 _Harry sat there, among the fallen cushions, letting his mind go where it wanted, still breathing deeply._

 _In and out. In and out._

...

Draco sauntered into the Room of Requirement, thanking Merlin for the thousandth time that Potter had shown him how to get in. It was a useful little room, and it was one of the only places in the castle secure enough for him to do what he really wanted to do.

Talk with Potter. Not sneer at Potter or throw hexes at Potter, but simply have a conversation with him.

It had become a bit of a habit for the dark-skinned wizard to wait around after his "Dumbledore's Army" lessons, at which point Draco would happen to stroll in, and the two of them would pass the time together talking and dueling.

Draco didn't even care that he lost their duels more than half the time. There was just something about being here with the man…

Looking around the room, Draco was surprised when he didn't see the subject of his thoughts. He furrowed his brows. Had Potter forgotten? Had he had better things to do?

Draco fought down a wave of jealousy.

He was about to sit down on a pile of fallen cushions when something caught his eye in the far corner.

"What _are_ you doing, Potter?" he drawled.

No response.

Draco walked forward to stand in front of the man, who was sitting on the floor, looking straight ahead.

"Potter?"

But he just kept staring forward, unseeing.

Fear spread through Draco's chest.

"Potter! Can you hear me?"

He knelt down, shaking the despondent man slightly by the shoulders.

" _Harry!_ Harry, _look at me!_ "

Green eyes locked on grey, and Potter made a sound that was half gasp, half yell.

He shoved Draco away and scrambled to his feet, looking around the room, panicked, as if he hadn't been in it a thousand times before. He took huge, gasping breaths, making his chest expand and deflate rapidly.

"Harry, it's all right! Look at me!"

Potter focused on him, eyes tracing his face.

"Malfoy?"

Draco nodded, taking a small step forward.

"Are you all right, Potter?"

"I- Where-" he stammered, chest heaving.

"Potter, it's okay. Take a deep breath," Draco commanded, trying not to let his own panic show.

The dark-skinned wizard attempted to draw in a steady breath, but it was no use. His frantic gasping resumed a moment later, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Draco didn't remember moving forward. All of a sudden, he was holding Potter in his arms, pressing him against his chest. Potter, almost reflexively, clung to him like he was drowning. Draco suspected that drowning was exactly how he felt.

"It's all right, Harry," he whispered in the other man's ear, "It's all right."

Potter's shaking diminished slightly in Draco's embrace but still persisted.

"Match my breathing, Harry. Feel that rhythm?" Draco held him tighter to himself, breathing in and out in an exaggeratedly slow fashion.

Potter took a shaky breath in, then out.

After a minute, Draco felt him ease a bit. He still clung on, but instead of clenched fists, he pressed flat palms onto Draco's back.

Now that the other man was calming, Draco could feel his own heartbeat begin to slow to a normal pace. He had never been so close to Potter before. Secretly, he allowed himself to enjoy the nearness, memorizing the feeling of Potter's chest pressed against his own, the scent of windswept hair, the feeling of-

But he had to reign in his thoughts before they carried him much further.

Reluctantly, he pulled away.

Potter dropped his arms quickly. Taking a step back, he rubbed furiously at his face.

"I, er…" he began, "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Don't mention it," Draco responded, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

They both stood rather awkwardly for a moment. Potter, apparently needing something to do, straightened the stack of stray cushions before throwing two on the ground a short distance apart from one another. It was what he always did before sparring.

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Potter, are you sure you're up for dueling?"

He whipped around to face Draco, snapping, "I'm not weak, Malfoy!"

Draco dropped his expression, making his face blank, "I never said you were."

Potter didn't look mollified.

Draco didn't think it wise for Potter to exert himself too much after whatever episode he'd just had. However, if the stupid man wouldn't listen to reason, he'd just have to learn the hard way.

Draco sighed and took out his wand, squaring off as he usually did next to one of the cushions.

Potter mirrored his stance, and the two bowed to each other.

Draco waited for the other man to make the first move. It didn't take long.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Draco blocked easily.

"Predictable, Potter!" Then he countered, " _Tarantallegra_!"

The spell hit Potter squarely in the chest, and immediately his legs began twitching and dancing uncontrollably. The wizard clenched his teeth in concentration, and he managed to shoot the body-bind curse at Draco despite the wild motion of his lower body.

Dodging the curse, Draco took advantage of his opponent's distraction.

" _Stupefy_!"

Potter attempted to put up a shield charm, but he was a split-second too late. He collapsed with a _thwump_ onto the nearby cushion.

Draco lowered his wand with another sigh and knelt down beside the wizard. Even unconscious, Potter's dark brows were pulled together, as if he was still angry, as if he was still in pain.

Draco didn't know if he wanted to shake the stubborn man or embrace him again. He settled for whispering, " _Rennervate_."

There was a flash of light, followed by a pair of flashing green eyes as Potter sat up and glared at Draco.

"Again," he ordered.

Draco almost protested, but he saw the muscles moving in Potter's jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fists, and the determined set of his shoulders. There would be no talking him out of this.

Draco returned to his usual place beside the cushion, and the two wizards bowed again.

Potter lasted a few more spells this time, and he even hit Draco with a well-placed _Rictusempra_ charm. In the end though, Draco was able to gasp out a stunner through his laughter, and Potter went down once more.

"Again!" He demanded as soon as he was revived.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but complied. This time, Potter didn't even utter one spell before being hit by another _Stupefy_.

Normally, Draco would have loved to boast about his winning streak. He wasn't exactly what one would call humble. However, in that moment, he couldn't even bring himself to pull his lips into his usual smirk.

He knelt down next to Potter once more and revived him.

Potter blinked, gasping, "Again."

"No."

" _Again!"_ He insisted, but Draco merely stowed his wand and sat gracefully on the other cushion a few feet away.

"Screech at me all you want, Potter, but neither of us is leaving this room until you tell me what happened before I arrived here tonight."

"Nothing happened!" Potter denied, scrambling to his feet, "Now stand up and face me, you cowardly snake!"

Draco rolled his eyes, "That's not a particularly clever insult. Not at all up to your usual standards. Now, tell me what happened before I hex you. Again."

Potter let out a frustrated yell, turning to kick viciously at the stack of cushions, sending them tumbling to the floor in a heap.

"I…. I can't explain it," he ground out.

"Sure you can; out with it."

Potter stood stone still.

He stayed that way, staring at the floor, for so long that Draco lost count of the seconds.

Finally, he croaked, "I have visions."

"Visions? Of the future?"

Potter shook his head, "Of the past."

Draco nodded in understanding, then guessed, "Of the end of last year?"

Potter didn't answer, and Draco assumed his guess was right.

"So that's what was happening earlier, when you were sitting in the corner? You were… reliving it?"

Potter gulped, then nodded.

Draco shuddered slightly. He'd heard enough from his father to understand what happened that night. The Dark Lord… torture… murder… a forced duel...

"Maybe this little club isn't good for you," Draco mused, "All that dueling, after…"

" _No,"_ Potter's nostrils flared, "The DA is one of the only good things about this year."

Draco arched an eyebrow, "Then why did you have that… that vision thing? What caused it?"

The dark-skinned man heaved a sigh, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes before admitting, "Cho kissed me."

Draco tensed, blood going suddenly cold.

" _Cheng_?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah…" Potter trailed off, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"I didn't know you fancy her," Draco said, attempting to affect an air of nonchalance.

"I don't," Potter stated quickly.

Draco, having just realized he'd been digging his nails into his palms, relaxed his hands.

"So why did a kiss from a pretty girl leave you having a flashback in the corner?"

Potter heaved a sigh and sat down heavily on a cushion next to Draco.

"They just _happen_ sometimes," he explained, "Usually after something reminds me of… that night… it's like I get transported back there."

Draco let that sink in for a moment. It had to be awful, knowing that any moment, something could cause one to relive one's worst memory.

"What do Granger and Weasel think of all this?" Draco asked.

"They don't know about it."

Draco locked his eyes on Potter's.

"Why?"

The Gryffindor shrugged, "I haven't told them."

"Then why tell me?"

"Well for one," he responded, one corner of his lips curling up, "They didn't threaten to hex me if I didn't."

Draco mimicked his smirk, then pressed, "Really, Potter. Why tell me?"

Potter let the amused expression fall, replacing it with a seriousness that Draco had never seen in him before.

"Because you don't treat me like I'll break."

Draco considered this for a moment before scoffing, "Of course you won't break. You're-"

"I know, I know," his green eyes narrowed in spite, "I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."

"No," Draco said softly, shaking his head, "You're just… Harry."

Harry looked up at him, searching. For what, Draco didn't know.

In that moment, he realized how close they were. He could see tiny flecks of gold in Harry's inquisitive eyes. Had Draco unconsciously leaned in? He must have done, for they hadn't been this close moments ago.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ He scolded himself. Quickly getting to his feet with as much decorum as he could muster, he stood for a moment with his back to Harry. He had to put more distance between the two of them, or Harry - no, _Potter_ \- would undoubtedly see too much.

Schooling his features, Draco turned towards the wizard still sitting on the ground, looking slightly confused.

"Besides," Draco made his voice into the bored drawl that he usually adopted, "You don't expect me to fall for that _Boy-Who-Lived_ nonsense, do you, Potter?"

Potter still looked a bit confused, and maybe a little… hurt? No, Draco must have been seeing things.

Still, he added a ghost of a smirk to his statement to take the sting out of it. They were friends, or whatever, after all.

Potter picked up on the expression immediately and shot him a grin.

"The Boy-Who-Lived doesn't even put any stock in all that Boy-Who-Lived nonsense."

Draco smiled, then caught himself and made his smile into a smirk instead.

"We should get back to our dormitories."

Potter nodded, "Yeah."

They walked towards the door. Draco kept his eyes resolutely forward. Potter glanced up nervously at the ceiling.

Draco reached for the door handle, but paused.

Turning towards him, Draco said in a low voice, "Happy Christmas, Potter."

The dark-skinned wizard focused his attention on Draco instead of the ceiling and smiled hesitantly.

"Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

Draco gave a small smile in return. Then he swept out of the Room of Requirement, never noticing the mistletoe that had been placed above the door.

His feet carried him automatically to his dormitory in the dungeons, allowing his conflicted mind to mull over the evening's events. He had gotten what he wanted - time talking with Potter. But this time was different. All of their previous interactions had been light-hearted, _fun_ almost.

This one, though. This one had been very… real. Dangerous. Potter had been so open with him, so honest about his flashbacks. Not only that, but he'd only ever told _Draco_ the truth about them. That had to be significant, didn't it? That had to say something important about what Draco meant to him?

No, Draco couldn't think like that. And he certainly couldn't let his guard down again the way he had that night.

But the way Potter had been looking at him, searching, almost as if trying to figure him out… It was unnerving. It had seemed as if he could see straight through Draco in that moment.

But that was impossible. And Draco would never let that happen - he _couldn't_ ever let that happen.

Because Potter could never know.

No one could ever know...

His father had made it clear that in a few years, after Draco came of age, he would join the Death Eaters. It wasn't the least bit uncertain. In his father's mind, it was an inevitability; it might as well have already happened.

In a few years, Draco would be forced to oppose Harry Potter. To hate him as much as his father did. He had no choice in the matter.

Especially now, after the Dark Lord had returned.

Draco shuddered at the thought. He'd managed to avoid meeting his father's Master thus far, but he knew that he'd have to face him eventually.

A few years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have been eager, even, to prove himself. To give himself completely to the Dark Lord.

But now…

Harry's smiling face flashed across his mind's eye.

Now, he could never hate Harry Potter.

He didn't know what he'd do when he was forced to join the Death Eater ranks. Luckily, he didn't have to think about that any time soon.

Until that day, he could carry on as he had been.

He could pretend for the world that he hated Potter.

He could pretend for Potter that he was his friend.

And when he was alone, when no one was around to see, only then could he admit the truth.

Draco was in love with Harry Potter.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Furthest Bedroom

 _A/N – Hi I'm back! Sorry for my long absence. Life… is hard sometimes. And this chapter was difficult for my brain, for some reason. I think it's because I want it to be all Drarry all the time, but I also think it's important to show relationships outside the main Ship. All in all, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out!_

 _Also, to my Guest reviewer,_ _bluelegospaceman_ _: I'm sincerely sorry that you don't enjoy my story. I understand that my writing isn't for everyone. However, I take your accusation that I plagiarized this very seriously. You must understand that there are lots of tropes in the fanfic world, and I definitely have not steered clear of all of them (they're just so much fun!) So, I can see how you may have read similar things before. That said, (with the obvious exception of the great JK Rowling, who gets sole credit for the creation of this world and these beautiful characters,) this story came from my brain and mine alone._

 _For everyone else who read and reviewed and followed this story,_ _ **thank you**_ _. Your encouragement fuels me. I hope you all enjoy_

Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower slowly, thinking about everything that had happened that night. He was dreading telling Ron and Hermione about Cho. He didn't really know what to think of the matter himself.

More confusing, though, was Malfoy.

It was amazing, really, how much things could change in the course of a few months. When the year had started, he happily hated Malfoy just like he always had.

Then, mere weeks later, Malfoy had become one of the best things in Harry's life. What he'd told Malfoy was true: he, Harry, had told him about the visions because Malfoy was one of the only people nowadays who didn't treat Harry like he was dangerous or breakable.

Like he was… just Harry.

It had shocked Harry to hear Malfoy refer to him like that. Not as the Boy-Who-Lived, not as the boy who defeated Voldemort, but as _just Harry._

It was… freeing.

He wanted more.

And then, when they were leaving, Harry could've sworn that Malfoy was pausing underneath the mistletoe so that he could -

But no. No, that was ridiculous! He was looking for signs where there were none - he'd done this before, last year, and it had almost driven him mad.

Malfoy and Harry would never work.

They were too different.

They were too _similar_.

And even if that weren't the case, there was still the fact that Malfoy wasn't gay in the first place! Images of the blond lying languidly across Pansy Parkinson's lap flitted into Harry's mind, making him a bit sick.

No, Malfoy was straight, and he would never so much as look at Harry that way.

Harry wasn't even sure that he was capable of handling another relationship - especially one that was impossible anyways - after Cedric.

 _Cedric_. His mind immediately flooded with guilt.

How could he let himself _think_ that way about another man when Cedric hadn't even been gone six months? How could he ever stand to be with someone else when Cedric never could? When that chance had been ripped away from him? All because Harry couldn't save him.

He definitely felt sick.

"Out a bit late, aren't we?" came a female voice.

Harry looked up, and found himself face-to-face with the portrait of the Fat Lady. Had he walked all the way back to the common room so quickly?

Harry mumbled the password and climbed through the portrait hole. As he collapsed onto his four-poster, he tried to force all thoughts out of his battered brain, but he simply couldn't clear his head. He rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut.

Just before he drifted off, the image of a smirking blond floated to the front of his mind.

...

Harry ran through the darkness. He had to get there in time.

Looking around, he could barely make out the looming hedges through the mist.

The maze. The third task.

He kept running; he had to get to the center of the maze, to the Triwizard Cup, to victory.

Someone was running down the path beside him.

He burst into an opening at the same time Cedric did. His heart fluttered at seeing the sandy hair, the flushed cheeks.

But someone was right behind Cedric, and Cedric was yelling at the figure.

 **"What are you doing? What the hell d'you think you're doing?"**

 **And then Harry heard Krum's voice.**

 **"Crucio!"**

Cedric's yells of pain flooded Harry with panic. He had to stop his pain, had to protect him.

" _Stupefy!_ "

Krum fell to the ground. **Harry dashed over to Cedric, who had stopped twitching and was lying there panting, his hands over his face.**

"Cedric! Ced, are you all right?" Harry asked desperately.

Cedric took in a shaky breath, but nodded.

Harry looked around at the maze, the tall hedges, the mist.

He'd been here before.

Was this a dream?

He had to remember what happened next - but he couldn't. All he knew was that something horrible was coming.

"Ced," he whispered frantically, grabbing his hand, "Ced, we have to get out of here."

"The cup-"

"No, don't touch the cup!" Harry's breath was coming in shallow gulps.

"Harry?"

Cedric searched Harry's face, concerned and a bit frightened, but Harry didn't see.

The hedges were closing in.

"Come _on!_ " Harry yanked Cedric forward.

They had to get out of there. Something horrible was coming, they had to _leave!_

Harry ran, dragging Cedric behind him.

The hedges were closing in, growing smoother and shorter.

Harry tightened his grip on Cedric's hand, but it was slipping. He looked back -

But he had gone.

" _Cedric!"_

Harry whipped around and bolted back the way he had come. The hedge wall was almost completely smooth now, like stone. And there was a ceiling.

Hedge mazes didn't have ceilings did they?

Harry sprinted down the hallway.

Yes, he'd definitely been there before.

He'd been in this particular corridor almost every night, hadn't he?

He'd dreamt of it, always walking down towards the end of the hallway, searching for something.

What was he searching for again?

Something important, he knew that. Or… someone?

He continued down the corridor, slower now, keeping low. He mustn't be seen.

 **At first glance the corridor was empty.**

 **But no… a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark.  
Harry put out his tongue. He tasted the manʹs scent on the air… **

**Harry longed to bite the man, but he must master the impulse. He had more important work to do…  
But the man was stirring, a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his  
feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand  
withdrawn from a belt.**

 **He had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the manʹs flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood.  
The man was yelling in pain, then he fell silent. He slumped backwards  
against the wall. Blood was splattering on to the floor…**

 **ʹHarry! HARRY!ʹ  
He opened his eyes.**

Ron was shaking him, a slightly panicked expression on his face. Harry looked round; he was back in his dormitory, covered in cold sweat.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, "Ron, we need to see Professor Dumbledore immediately!"

"Harry, you've just been having a nightmare! A bloody awful one, I reckon, with all that yelling-"

"No, Ron, listen to me! We need to see Professor Dumbledore right now; your dad's been attacked!"

…

Harry sat against the wall in Grimmauld Place, staring blankly, resolutely ahead of him. Nearby, Buckbeak snuffled through the hay that was strewn across the ground, searching for leftover morsels to eat.

Harry tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. How long had it been since he'd eaten?

He knew he couldn't go downstairs for food. He couldn't bear the Weasley's accusatory stares. Or worse, when they wouldn't make eye contact with him at all.

" **Everyone knows there's something strange about the Potter boy,"** Mad Eye's voice echoed through Harry's mind.

It had been a mistake to use the Extendable Ears the previous day to listen into Mr. Weasley's hospital room as the Order members gathered.

They'd inevitably gotten on the subject of Harry. Of Harry's vision of the snake attacking the Weasley patriarch. Of the fact that Harry had been looking out from behind the snake's eyes as it happened...

Possessed.

Harry was being possessed by Voldemort.

Moody had said so himself.

So he couldn't go downstairs, couldn't face the family that he'd endangered, that he was _still_ endangering.

And he couldn't run away, because Dumbledore had sent him a rather impersonal message telling him to stay put.

So stay put he would. In the furthest bedroom from the rest of the grim townhouse's occupants. With a heavy sigh, he thought longingly of the Room of Requirement, with its comfortable cushions and Sneak-o-Scopes, and of the blond man whom he imagined standing nonchalantly inside.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Harry Potter!" a shrill voice pierced through the thick wood, "Open the door this instant!"

Harry, shocked out of his determined isolation, obeyed.

"Hermione?" he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came as soon as I could, didn't I? Now come on, I need to talk to you."

And with that, she headed down the stairs. Reluctantly, Harry followed.

Ron and Ginny were waiting for them in the bedroom he and Ron shared.

 **ʹI came on the Knight Bus,ʹ said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. ʹDumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose.** I think she's the one who sent Malfoy to ask me where you'd gone."

Harry's heart stopped momentarily.

"Malfoy?" Ron said scathingly, "What did he say to you?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, "Oh, he just cornered me with some flimsy excuse. He was obviously dying to know where you were, Harry. Of course I was delighted to tell him that it was none of his business, but that Dumbledore had given you and the Weasleys special permission to leave."

Harry looked down, taken aback by the almost foreign joy that took root in his chest. Was it Umbridge who'd sent him, or was Malfoy actually concerned?

" **So… How are you feeling?"** Hermione asked.

Harry looked up at her, the joy he'd felt moments ago melting back into the anger and loneliness that he'd wallowed in all morning.

He tried to pacify her by claiming nothing was wrong, but none of them bought it. Didn't they understand? Didn't they know how dangerous it was to be around him?

"You're just being stupid," Ginny said with barely-masked anger, **"Seeing as you donʹt know anyone but me whoʹs been possessed by You** **‐** **Know** **‐** **Who, and I can tell you how it feels.ʹ**

 **Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled  
round.**

 **ʹI forgot,ʹ he said.**

 **ʹLucky you,ʹ said Ginny coolly.**

 **ʹIʹm sorryʹ Harry said, and he meant it.**

Harry sat down to dinner that night feeling much better than he had since coming to Grimmauld Place. Ginny had assured him that, as he wasn't missing any large chunks of his memory, he was indeed _not_ being possessed.

He still didn't understand why he'd seen the vision of Mr. Weasley's attack, and he was certainly bewildered by _how_ he'd seen it, but it was a comfort to know that he wasn't being controlled by Lord Voldemort.

Things got even better when Mr. Weasley returned home, and even Sirius was getting into the holiday spirit.

Harry finally felt like he was able to relax, aside from a moment every now and then when he'd find himself wishing for the comfort and near-solitude of the Room of Requirement.

Still, between Sirius's mad determination to make Grimmauld Place cheerful for the holidays, and Order members taking turns joining them for delicious dinners, and Fred and George spewing eggnog out of their noses from laughing at a rather scandalous story of Mundungus's, this Christmas was turning out to be… rather good.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Obviously Forced Nonchalance

 _A/N – Hello everyone! FYI, I went back through the previous chapters and fixed the chapter numbers. I wanted to have the first chapter be the prologue instead of chapter 1, but FF was still titling it Chapter 1, and at the risk of being confusing, I changed all the chapter numbers (and added titles, which I will do from now on). LMK if I uploaded anything wrong lol. Thanks as always for reading and following and reviewing! You guys are awesome! Enjoyy_

Draco paced back and forth. Back and forth.

The Room of Requirement was still depressingly empty, and Draco was beginning to think that he could see a large circle on the floor, worn more than the stone around it. He really needed to stop pacing.

Every time he tried to still himself, however, he would think about how Potter wasn't back yet, and his feet would begin their circling once more.

Twenty-five days. It had been twenty-five days since Draco had last seen Potter. Almost a whole month. Twenty-five days since Potter had told Draco about his visions, and then he'd disappeared.

Draco had noticed his absence fairly quickly at breakfast the next day. Then he noticed that there was a significant lack of red hair in the Great Hall as well. Granger was still there, but Potter and the Weasleys had gone.

They still didn't show up before the students went home for the Christmas holidays.

Draco had been forced to return to the Manor without saying goodbye, without knowing whether or not Potter was all right. He'd been forced to endure the company of his father's _friends_ all holiday, never knowing where Potter was or if he was safe.

Granger hadn't been helpful at all when he'd tried to wheedle information out of her about Potter's whereabouts.

...And then there were the rumors.

Someone was attacked at the Ministry. Arthur Weasley. But Father had seemed almost too gleeful about this fact. He and the other _minions_ were getting close to something. They were excited. And their anticipation was an ominous thing.

When Draco finally returned to school, he almost immediately made his way to the Room of Requirement. Normally, he'd be insisting to himself that he wasn't waiting for Potter, that he didn't care. But he couldn't deny his frantic worry this time.

The door opened, and Draco whipped around.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's heart leapt, and he hurriedly closed the space between them. He remembered himself just in time, and he stopped short in front of Potter. He couldn't stop himself from grabbing the other man's shoulders, however, and looking him over frantically.

"Er… Malfoy?"

Draco sighed and let his shoulders sag. He was _safe._

 _He was SAFE._

" _Oi!_ " Potter exclaimed, holding his shoulder where Draco had just hit him, "What the bloody Hell was that for?!"

Draco stepped back and shrugged, "Only a small recompense for my worries."

"Your _worries_?" Potter asked incredulously.

Draco examined his nails, drawling, "You tell me you experience disturbing flashbacks, and then you disappear for over three and a half weeks with no word. I think a small amount of concern was warranted. I nearly cornered Granger and demanded that she tell me where you'd gone."

Potter merely stared at him, apparently too stunned to speak.

"I… I didn't think you…" he began, but stopped himself, shaking his head slightly before continuing, "I was with the Weasleys. I… Mr. Weasley was attacked."

"Yes, I'm aware," was Draco's only response. Still cool, still reserved. The opposite of how he felt.

Potter raised a dark eyebrow, "...How did you know?"

Draco sighed, "Aside from the papers," he sneered slightly, "My father."

Potter's other eyebrow joined the first one, obviously surprised at Draco's transparent disdain.

"What are you staring at?" the blond asked a bit more defensively than he intended.

Potter held up his hands, "I've just never seen anything other than nauseating admiration on your face when you talk about your father."

Draco's sneer deepened to a scowl.

"Yes, well, I've grown up. I know better now."

"You mean…" Potter cut himself off again, a slight blush showing beneath his dark skin.

"What?" demanded Draco, "What were you about to say, Potter?"

They never actually talked about it: the disappearances, the Death Eaters, The Dark Lord... It was as if these subjects were off-limits for them, like the two of them existed in a small bubble that was outside the reach of the tension, the fear. It seemed, however, that the Dark Lord's reach was too oppressive even for their bubble to remain untouched.

Potter rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, not making eye contact.

"I just… you don't want to be just like your father, then?"

Draco huffed indignantly, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't want to be a _Death Eater_ , if that's what you mean," he spat. He was rather proud that he managed not to flinch as he said the words aloud.

It hurt him more than he cared to admit that Potter thought he'd actually join that madman. It hurt even worse that there was some truth to it. He _had_ wanted to follow his father's footsteps after all, before… before he fell in love. He swallowed thickly. Still agitated, he turned and stalked further into the room, pretending to be absorbed in a set of Defense books on a shelf.

"Malfoy, I… I'm sorry, I should never have assumed, especially with how-"

"It's fine, Potter. Everyone thinks it of me anyways, why shouldn't you?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Potter joined him at the bookshelf, eyes running over the spines of the books in such a way that suggested he wasn't actually reading them.

"I should have known better. You've been… different this year."

This time, Draco did flinch. Did Potter know somehow?

Thankfully, the other man was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't seem to notice Draco's reaction.

Potter continued, "You've been… brilliant, actually."

Warmth spread through Draco's chest.

Potter turned to look directly at him, "I never actually thanked you. For that first Defense class, when you stopped me."

Draco silently cursed his pale skin, as Potter undoubtedly saw the flush in his cheeks.

"It was nothing," he said dismissively, "I've always wanted to kick you. It was a great excuse."

Potter laughed. It was a genuine sound that came from deep in his belly, and Draco couldn't help but smirk triumphantly.

"You are all right, though," Draco said after a moment, raising an eyebrow slightly to make the statement into a question.

"Yeah, I'm all right."

Something in his tone was almost uncertain, and his smile began to fade.

Draco, needing to know without a shadow of a doubt that the Scarhead was indeed safe, drawled, "You don't sound too convinced about that."

Potter shrugged, "The holidays got off to a bit of a rocky start, but they ended okay."

His expression darkened, and he added, "Aside from being assigned Occlumency lessons with _Snape._ "

He spit out the professor's name as if it were a particularly nasty bug that had flown in his mouth.

"Occlumency lessons?" Draco asked, surprised, "Why does Professor Snape want to teach you Occlumency?"

Potter scoffed, "Oh, hedoesn't _want_ to teach me. I reckon he's looking forward to this as much as _I_ am. Dumbledore put him up to it."

Draco's pale eyebrows knit together, "And why does Dumbledore want you to have private Occlumency lessons?"

Potter's green eyes flicked to Draco, then landed back on the stone floor.

Finally, he responded, "I had another vision."

"Another vision? When?" Draco asked, interest, and concern, piqued.

"Just before the holidays. The same night I told you about them."

"You saw the - what happened last year again?"

"No." Potter said, twirling a loose thread from his robes between his fingers, "It was… different."

Draco simply waited for him to continue, sensing that pressing him would make him shut down.

After a moment, Potter spoke.

"I've been dreaming about… this corridor. I don't know why. I thought it had to do with how trapped I felt at the Dursleys this summer, since I couldn't get any information from Dumbledore or, well, _anyone_ , about what's been going on."

His voice hardened as he said this last bit, then he went on.

"But I've still been dreaming about it, even here. It's always the same; I'm walking down this long, dark hallway, and I'm looking for something, but I don't know what. I always get so frustrated when I can't find it. But… but the last time, it was different. I was…"

Potter trailed off, glancing up at Draco again, who was careful to keep his face as blank as possible. He needed Potter to continue, needed to know why he'd left without a word.

Something in Draco's face must have convinced Potter that he was trustworthy, because he started again.

"I saw Mr. Weasley sitting at the end of the corridor. I - Voldemort's snake was there, and it attacked Mr. Weasley. And…" he took a deep breath, then said in a rush as if he was trying to get it over with: "And _I_ was the snake."

Draco, having winced at hearing The Dark Lord's name, had recovered in time to give hardly any reaction at all to Potter's confession.

When the dark-skinned wizard peeked out from under his fringe to read Draco's expression, all he saw was a contemplative look.

"You were the snake… Has anything like this happened before?" There was no trace of judgment or fear or shock in his voice.

"Not exactly, that's the only dream I've ever had like that. There've been other things, like my scar hurting. Dumbledore reckons that happens whenever Voldemort is really angry, but recently I've been getting these weird _impressions_. Like I can feel what he's feeling. And not just when he's angry; when he's pleased, too."

Draco suppressed a shiver with difficulty, simply nodding his head instead as if he heard about this kind of thing all the time.

"So, what did you do about the dream?" he asked, needing to navigate the conversation towards more familiar ground. The knowledge that the man he feared most and the man he loved most were somehow _linked_ was... No. He would carefully sort through it all later, when he was alone and wouldn't risk alienating Potter.

"Went straight to Dumbledore, who was able to get help to Mr. Weasley just in time."

"So, this _vision_ showed you something that was actually happening at that moment, and because of it, you saved a man's life."

"I… well, yeah, I suppose…"

Draco nodded, then continued, "But Dumbledore obviously thinks the visions - impressions - whatever, are bad, so he assigned you a private Occlumency tutor."

"Yeah," Potter affirmed glumly.

"Well, I should think you'd be glad for the lessons," he said, "Occlumency would help with the _memories_ , too."

Draco emphasized the word, getting his point across without further explanation.

Potter looked down again, dark eyebrows pulled together. Hesitant. Hiding something.

It was almost as if he _didn't want_ to be rid of the memories - at least, not entirely. Why would that be? What could possibly be worth reliving torture and death and being somehow _connected_ to the darkest wizard of the century? Was he some kind of masochist? No, that didn't fit. There was yet another secret Potter was hiding. Again, Draco waited to see if he would continue.

But he said nothing.

Finally, Draco prompted, "There's something else about the memories, isn't there?"

Potter locked his eyes on Draco's grey ones, searching, and slightly afraid.

Yes, he was definitely hiding something - something big, according to how anxious he was. It only made Draco more eager to find out. To understand what made him tick. To _know_ him.

Finally, Potter answered, "They're just memories from last year. Nothing more."

Draco held his gaze, then nodded and looked away.

The man was an abysmal liar at times.

It hurt a bit that he hadn't trusted Draco with the truth. He'd trusted him with everything else - even things he hadn't told his little sidekicks. Why not this?

Then, maybe Draco was expecting too much. After all, it was only a few months ago that they'd been at each other's throats. He supposed he'd just have to give Potter more time.

"So, Professor Snape will be in charge of your Occlumency training, then? You're really fortunate; I happen to know that he's a master Occlumens."

"Fortunate?" Potter repeated incredulously, apparently latching on to any piece of conversation, "I don't think my luck could be any worse if I was cursed by a Leprechaun!"

Draco managed an amused snort.

"Professor Snape actually started teaching _me_ Occlumency last year. He's quite good - as am I, needless to say."

"Why has Snape been giving you private lessons?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Honestly, Potter. I'm his _godson_ , why wouldn't he teach me such an invaluable skill?"

Potter looked utterly horrified.

" _Snape_ is your _godfather?!"_

The vehemence of his reaction actually startled a laugh out of the blond.

"He taught me everything I know. Even gave Mother a few lessons, though she'd had training before. It's not that bad, really."

Potter merely gaped.

"Not that bad? You see what he's like in class; the greasy bat _hates_ me! It'll be _torture!_ "

Draco laughed again.

"It's not funny, Malfoy."

Draco turned his head to the side while keeping his rather mischievous eyes on Potter.

"It is a _bit_ though."

"Oi!" Potter looked indignant, "I thought you were supposed to be on _my_ side! Where's all that concern you had for me a few minutes ago?"

Drago shrugged, "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

 _Whack!_

Draco stared.

"...Potter… Did you just hit me in the head with a _cushion_?"

The Scarhead had the nerve to shrug with obviously forced nonchalance.

"Old habits and all."

Draco grinned wickedly.

"Oh, you are _so_ going to regret that."

And with that, he grabbed the fallen cushion and charged.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Flared Curiosity

After meeting in the Room of Requirement, and being surprised to discover that Malfoy was quite grateful for his return (even if he insisted on showing it in the most Malfoy-ish way possible), Harry was in a wonderfully good mood as he sat down to breakfast the next morning. He was still a bit confused about his relationship with Malfoy, but that didn't bother him too much at the moment. He'd finally had a full night's sleep, free of nightmares and corridors. He'd even forgotten to dread his first Occlumency lesson with Snape that evening.

He said hello to Ron and Hermione before piling his plate high with sausages and toast.

"Well, you seem to be in a good mood today. Glad to be back at school, then?" asked Hermione cheerily.

Harry nodded, since his mouth was currently full of sausage. He hadn't told Ron and Hermione where he'd gone last night. There's no way they would react well if he told them he snuck off to meet Malfoy the first chance he got. Besides, how could he explain his relationship to the Slytherin if he didn't fully understand it?

Ron jumped in to fill the amiable silence, "I'm glad you're feeling better, mate. It _is_ nice to be back isn't it? Sirius did a great job bringing some holiday cheer into that dusty old house, but at the end of the day, it still gives me the willies!"

"Yes, and we don't have to worry about that awful portrait screaming her head off anymore!" Hermione added with an exasperated groan.

Harry rolled his eyes, "She must have woken me up in the middle of the night four times while we were there! I think I might even prefer _Umbridge._ At least _she's_ quieter."

Ron wrinkled his nose, "Dunno about _that one,_ Harry. At least if that barmy portrait starts screaming, we can just shut the curtains and shut her up."

Harry tapped his chin, "I wonder if we can find a spare set of curtains for Umbridge. That would solve _loads_ of problems!"

Hermione and Ron burst out laughing, and Harry beamed at them.

 _Today is going to be a good day._

Just then, a parliament of owls swooped into the Great Hall. Harry grabbed his goblet of pumpkin juice just in time as a barn owl landed roughly on the table in front of them. It hopped over to Hermione and held out its leg for her to take the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ that was tied to it.

She hastily grabbed the paper and dropped some knuts into the owl's leg pouch before starting to read.

Almost as soon as she unfolded the _Prophet,_ she gasped.

"Whaddisit?" Ron asked tensely through a mouthful of bacon.

Hermione only spread the front page on the table in front of her so they could all see the front page headline.

 **MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN**

Harry's stomach soured. His day wasn't looking that great anymore.

...

Harry approached Snape's office door that evening with trepidation. He had managed to distract himself enough throughout the day that he hadn't mustered up too much dread. But now that he was raising his fist to knock, he found his stomach souring with anxiety.

Breathing in deeply, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Enter," came Snape's muffled response.

Gulping, Harry opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room beyond.

Immediately, his attention was drawn to a blue light coming from one corner. There stood Snape, wand raised to his own temple. Something silvery pooled around the tip of his wand, and when he withdrew his hand, a strand of slippery light followed, seeming to flow out from the professor's greasy hair. He poked the memory into what Harry recognized as Dumbledore's pensieve, which turned out to be the source of the bluish light.

" **Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said. "The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions."**

" **Right," said Harry tersely.**

After a brief - much _too_ brief, in Harry's opinion - explanation of what Occlumency was, Snape instructed Harry to take out his wand.

" **You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of," said Snape.**

" **And what are you going to do?" Harry asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.**

" **I am about to attempt to break into your mind," said Snape softly. "We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse... You will find that similar powers are needed for this... Brace yourself, now... Legilimens!"**

Harry was completely caught off guard, and images began to fly through his mind involuntarily, as if he was seeing scenes from his life play out on a movie screen.

 **He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy... He was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn... He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin... Hermione was lying in the hospital wing, her face covered with thick black hair... A hundred dementors were closing in on him beside the dark lake...** Draco Malfoy was standing under the mistletoe, smirking...

 _No!_

A part of Harry's mind revolted. His relationship with Malfoy was their secret! Even he didn't understand it; he couldn't let Snape see anything to do with it - it was _unthinkable_ , it was -

 **He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape's office had come back into view and he realized that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry welt there, like a scorch mark.**

" **Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?" asked Snape coolly.**

" **No," said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.**

" **I thought not," said Snape contemptuously. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."**

" **Did you see everything I saw?" Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.**

" **Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "To whom did the dog belong?"**

" **My Aunt Marge," Harry muttered, hating Snape.**

And so the lesson, if that's really what it could be called, continued - Snape invaded Harry's mind over and over, and Harry continued trying in vain to keep the greasy bat out of his head.

But continually, no matter how Harry tried, Snape would get past his defenses and see things that Harry didn't want _anyone_ to see, let alone the professor who went out of his way to make his life miserable.

Yet Dumbledore had handed him over to Snape, knowing that Snape _hated_ him for no reason!

And Harry found his own hatred growing. Every time he resurfaced from his mind, shocks of pain running through his knees as he collapsed, he hated Snape more.

Over and over, all the man said in response was to _try harder!_ He gave no further instruction aside from, "Clear your mind, Potter! Get up!"

Again, Harry stood, wand clutched in his hand.

Again, Snape counted down and hissed his spell.

 **A great black dragon was rearing in front of him... His father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror... Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him...**

" **NOOOOOOO!" He was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.**

He subtly wiped his eyes, trying to clear away the tears before Snape saw.

" **Get up!" said Snape sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!"**

Harry balled his fists and made to stand once more.

Gritting his teeth, he steeled himself for the next shout of _Legilimens!_

Eventually, the lesson would be over. Eventually.

...

Potter threw himself down into his customary seat next to Draco, startling him slightly, seemingly materializing out of thin air.

Draco gave him a narrow-eyed look, partially out of reproach, and partially to keep up appearances. They were supposed to hate each other, after all.

He noticed during his calculated glance at Potter that he seemed… agitated. His hair was, somehow, in more disarray than usual, and he kept rubbing the fronts of his knees absently.

Immediately, Draco's curiosity flared. What had made Potter so upset?

But they couldn't start passing notes quite yet, not without Umbridge's inane assignments as their cover. So he instead stared at Umbridge impatiently, willing her to stand and begin the day's lesson.

A few very long minutes later, she finally rose from her frilly chair.

"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," came the rehearsed reply.

"Today, we will cover the chapter on Ministry-approved home security measures for all occasions. These are merely the everyday tasks that all responsible witches and wizards should perform to ensure their homes follow the utmost, highest standards, including-"

Draco quickly dipped his quill in ink, careful not to spill in his haste. He didn't care to hear about the most reliable methods for deterring gnomes - honestly, gnomes weren't even dark creatures! Instead, he began penning the questions that buzzed around his head:

 _All right today, Potter? You seem even angrier than usual, although I don't blame you considering the constant, disappointing string of 'assignments' in this class. What's got your wand in a knot?_

He folded the scrap of parchment and surreptitiously passed it under the table.

He only had to wait a moment before he felt Potter's fingers brush against his own as he took the note. Draco concentrated on keeping his face blank and focused on the droning toad at the front of the room.

Potter only took a moment to write his reply:

 _First Occlumency lesson last night._

Draco resisted the urge to huff at the lack of detail, but he could at least understand the source of Potter's bad mood.

 _It didn't go well, I presume?_

This time, Potter took a long while to respond.

 _No, thanks to your sodding godfather. He kept telling me to 'resist' without ever explaining HOW_ _to do it. Then he yelled at me when he got through my defenses and told me I wasn't trying hard enough!_

Draco read the note through a few times.

 _So he used Legilimency on you straight away?_

Draco watched Potter's fist clench even harder as he read.

 _Yeah. It wasn't bad at first, but it's like the longer the lesson went on, the worse it got. He said that I was handing him weapons. And he used them. The bastard intentionally searched out… private memories._

Draco was surprised at his godfather. He'd always known that Severus had had a dark side - that much was obvious - and he knew that the man hated Potter as much as Draco used to. In fact, years ago, they had bonded over their mutual hatred. But using Legilimency on someone without giving them the proper instructions first? He shivered.

He thought back to his lessons from Severus and from his mother. They had gradually exposed him to mental attacks, and they refrained from probing into private memories. At least at first, until he had the skills to protect himself.

His mother had told him about her lessons from Aunt Bellatrix, and even that terrible woman hadn't gone straight to raiding her sister's private thoughts.

No wonder Potter's anger was pouring off of him in waves.

 _That's not what I would have expected from Severus._

He was just wondering if there was an underlying method to the man's madness when something occurred to Draco. The unsettling thought was like a stone in his stomach. He had been an _idiot_ not to think of it before! His godfather could potentially see _him_ in Potter's memories, interacting with him, being his friend…

Quickly, Draco added:

 _Did he manage to see anything too personal?_

He heard Potter's scoff, followed by the familiar scratching of quill on parchment.

 _Every one of my memories is too personal when it comes to Snape. There are loads of things I'd rather not have him see. Things I'd rather not have anyone know._

Draco's heart twisted. The unsettling thought morphed into a full-blown fear. If the Occlumency lessons continued, would they be discovered? What would Severus do if he found out about their covert friendship?

Gulping, Draco dipped his quill again, forcing his hand to remain steady.

 _Did he see me?_

A few moments later, he read Potter's response in that familiar, cramped scrawl.

 _Just a glimpse… That was one of the times I actually managed to shove him out of my head. Accidentally shot a stinging hex at him. Which served him right in my opinion, the git._

Draco snorted softly, despite himself.

 _You're being careful, then?_

 _Don't worry, Malfoy. I'll do my best to protect you._

A small part of Draco chafed at the thought of needing protection. A much larger part had to fight down a wave of fluttery elation at the idea that Potter was protective of him.

That had to mean _something_... didn't it?

 _A/N - Aw poor Harry. When I originally started writing him with PTSD, I didn't think through how much worse Occlumency would be for him... At least he has Draco to cheer him up._

 _Thanks as always for reading 3 There will be more one-on-one Drarry interaction soon, I promise! We just have to get through another Occlumency lesson and a particularly bad nightmare..._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Tracing Footsteps

Harry was seething. He stomped through the corridor, head pounding and knees aching.

Snape was unbelievable! Did the git really think that Harry should be able to fight off a full-grown wizard's attack after just two measly Occlumency lessons?

Harry had been mortified at the memories the oily professor had invaded tonight. Memories of Cedric.

They were in the Prefect's bathroom, dipping their feet in the water and laughing... They were standing close, squeezing together so they could grip a moldy old boot along with the rest of the Weasleys...

Snape almost saw a particularly embarrassing moment when Harry had tripped, falling straight into Cedric's arms, who caught him laughing and showered his flushed face with kisses.

Harry had actually yelled with the effort of shoving the great bat out of his mind, saving himself more moments before he saw anything too intimate.

And then Snape had seen the corridor from Harry's dreams. That had been the worst part of the night. The moody man immediately became suspicious, asking too many questions. Accusing Harry even more of not trying hard enough.

He hated this. With every fibre of his being.

Why was Dumbledore insisting that he get these stupid, useless lessons anyways? Hadn't they helped save Mr. Weasley's life?

Harry shivered, thinking of the view through the great snake Nagini's eyes as they prowled through the corridor.

It wasn't as if Harry chose to have this connection with Voldemort. He didn't exactly like it, but he didn't really deserve to be punished for it either, did he?

Just then, he arrived at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Still mentally cursing Snape, Harry grunted the password, _codswallop,_ and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Harry! You're back!"

Hermione's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"How was it, mate?" asked Ron.

"Dreadful," Harry stated.

"Oh," Hermione said, but she continued, still trying to maintain a positive tone of voice, "Are you at least learning more about Occlumency? Understanding it a bit better?"

"Not really," Harry said, shrugging.

"I do hope you're really applying yourself, Harry. Dumbledore said-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know Hermione. Look, I'm knackered. I think I'm just going to head to bed."

Harry didn't want to hear her lecture. He knew he should tell them what he'd realized about his recurring corridor dream - that it was, in fact, the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries – but even that exciting revelation couldn't throw off the exhaustion and anger he was currently drowning in. Waving to Ron, who was glaring reproachfully at Hermione, he headed towards the staircase.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Ron hiss, "Well done, 'Mione, you must have broken a nagging record. Only about twelve words and you chased him away!"

Harry didn't hear Hermione's reply, but judging by her tone, she hadn't appreciated Ron's assessment.

Shaking his head, Harry entered his dormitory and fell straight into bed, rubbing his aching eyes with the heels of his palms.

He was still so agitated, so _angry._ He hated Snape, and he hated Occlumency, and he hated Dumbledore for ignoring him all summer and then forcing _this_ on him!

He let out a growl, kicking off his trainers and yanking the quilt over him without even bothering to take off his robes.

He reached into his bag beside the bed, fingers fumbling blindly until they found the time-softened edges of a familiar piece of parchment. Then he threw the quilt over his head, grabbed his wand, and whispered, "Lumos!"

He unfolded the yellowing parchment quickly, tapping it once and swearing solemnly that he was up to no good.

And admittedly, Harry knew that what he intended to do was probably very foolish.

His eyes followed the ink patterns that bloomed on the page, spelling out names and taking the shapes of corridors and rooms.

He searched only a moment before he found the name he was looking for.

 _Draco Malfoy._

Some of the heavy, burning anger he'd felt only moments earlier seemed to lessen.

He traced Malfoy's footsteps along a corridor. Through a secret passageway. Down a staircase. Malfoy was probably out doing rounds.

Harry breathed a sigh. He didn't know exactly why he sought out the Slytherin. It felt like, even though they couldn't meet in the Room of Requirement that night, a little piece of Malfoy was there with him. It was somehow comforting to just see his name in the swirling ink. To watch his footsteps as they appeared and disappeared on the parchment. Harry traced their path absently with his finger.

Down another corridor. Briefly entering a classroom before returning to the hall. Steady. Reassuring.

And before Harry realized it, he was fast asleep. Dreaming.

...

 _Last year_

Harry panted, wiping a trickle of blood off his face with his sleeve.

Cedric stood up straight, motioning to the gleaming Triwizard Cup that stood innocently on a plinth just a few feet away from them.

"You - should take it - Harry," he panted.

Harry shook his head, "No way!"

" **That's twice you've saved my neck in here** ," said the Hufflepuff, "First from Krum, and now from a giant spider. You deserve it more than me."

"No, I don't!" exclaimed Harry incredulously.

Cedric walked over to him, taking his hand.

"No, listen," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help."

"... _Together_ , then?" Harry asked, emphasizing the first word significantly.

Cedric's breath caught, "You mean…"

"Well, we've done everything together for months now, including prepare for the tournament. We've been _together_ for months. I think it's high time we told everyone."

"Even though that Skeeter woman is here?" Cedric asked, concern tinting his voice, "Harry, this won't be a page twelve story. The whole wizarding world will talk about the Boy-Who-Lived and his no-name _boyfriend_ …"

"I don't care what they say about us," the dark-skinned wizard insisted, "Rita Skeeter has made up every conceivable story about me this year, and I just don't care about them anymore… but," he took a deep breath, "I do care about _you,_ Ced."

Cedric mirrored the huge grin plastered on his boyfriend's face, and he leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"Together," Cedric nodded, squeezing Harry's hand in his.

Simultaneously, they both reached for a handle of the Cup.

Next second, Harry felt as if he was being pulled forwards by a hook just behind his naval. When the world stopped spinning, he fell to his knees, losing his grip on both the Cup and Cedric's hand.

Looking around, he saw mostly darkness, with mist trailing around him.

"Where are we?" asked Cedric from somewhere to his left.

"'Dunno," Harry said, sitting up. He accepted Cedric's hand and was pulled to his feet.

Still holding on to each other, they looked around.

"It's some sort of graveyard," Harry observed.

 **"Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?" Asked Cedric.**

" **Nope," said Harry.**

"Why would they send us here, of all places?" Cedric wondered aloud.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he gripped his boyfriend's hand tighter.

"They wouldn't," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Squinting his eyes into the shadows, he could barely make out a short figure approaching, carrying a bundle in its arms.

Suddenly, Harry was on the ground. Pain was ripping through his scar, and his knees had given way beneath him. Distantly, he registered the smell of dirt in his nostrils.

He could barely register Cedric shouting, "Harry! Harry, what's wrong?! Can you hear me? _Harry!"_

Forcing himself to look up at Cedric's terrified face, he ground out, "My… _scar."_

Then, he heard a high, cold voice rasp out, " **Kill the spare**."

And Cedric was enveloped in green light.

Horrified, Harry watched as if in slow motion.

Cedric crumpled like a discarded rag doll, landing with a sick, fleshy _thwump_ on the ground.

His face was frozen, chiseled features still scrunched in fear and confusion.

Harry screamed.

He fought the pain in his scar and threw himself towards his boyfriend, but flat grey eyes stared glassily into the distance, unseeing.

Dead. Cedric was _dead_.

And someone was making a loud, horrible, inhuman sound.

Harry was being levitated somewhere. Rough ropes crushed him against hard, cold stone, holding him in place.

The horrible, heart-rending sound wasn't stopping.

He could taste salt in his mouth. Was he crying?

The figure in front of him was throwing the bundle into a cauldron, but he couldn't focus.

His throat was hurting. Why did his throat hurt?

Screaming. He, Harry, was screaming. _He_ was the one making the awful, inhuman sound.

He tried to stop.

 _Breathe,_ he told himself, _Breathe!_

He was hyperventilating. Concentrating, he tried to look at what was happening in front of him.

Someone was directly in front of him – it was Wormtail. Holding a knife.

" **B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken... you will. . . resurrect your foe** ," He squeaked, slashing the knife on Harry's arm.

 _Pain._ More pain in his arm. He screamed again.

He looked around, and could just barely see Cedric laying on the ground.

This couldn't be real. It had to be a dream.

He saw Cedric's eyes. Open. Unblinking. Lifeless.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could shut his mind as well. Desperately, he refocused on the scene in front of him.

Wormtail stumbled back from the cauldron, holding a bleeding arm to his chest.

It dawned on Harry what the bundle was that Wormtail had dropped into the cauldron, the same source of the high, cold voice that had ordered-

He shook his head, thinking over and over, _Let it die,_ please _, let it die!_

But something was rising up out of the curling mists of the potion.

Pain exploded in Harry's scar, adding to the searing pain in his arm and the deeper, aching pain in his chest, as Voldemort himself stepped out of the cauldron.

With a deep breath, he said, "Robes. Bring me my robes."

With a shaking hand, Wormtail offered up a length of dark fabric to his master.

"Your arm, Wormtail," Voldemort hissed quietly.

"Oh! Oh, thank you, my Lord!" simpered the cowering man, extending his bloody arm that – Harry realized for the first time – was nothing but a stump.

"Not _that_ arm."

Wormtail whimpered, extending his left arm, which bore the black snake and skull of the Dark Mark.

Voldemort lifted his hand, pressing a finger directly into the center of the mark, saying, "Let us see how many of my _noble_ followers respond to my call…"

Dark figures began appearing, dotting the graveyard with more shadow, but Harry was losing focus again. He forced himself to watch as Voldemort catalogued his loyal subjects: Dolohov, Rockwood, Lestrange, the list went on. Harry's heart raced when Lucius Malfoy was revealed; he had always known that man was evil.

Then Voldemort turned to address him, "Ah, yes. Mr. Potter, the star of our evening."

His high, emotionless voice grated against Harry's ears, against his soul.

"My followers would have believed me _beaten_ by you. Let's see how you fare against me now… _Crucio!"_

Everything around Harry became meaningless as his world was enveloped by the pain. Burning, scratching, ripping, _tearing_.

When he finally surfaced, he was blessedly numb, and Voldemort was laughing.

All of a sudden, Harry was dropped to the ground, having been released from the ropes' scratching grip.

He could still taste salt.

…

 _Present Day_

Harry trudged towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom slowly and groggily. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. In fact, he hadn't gotten much sleep for a while. He'd been plagued with nightmares for months now, but this past week had been… worse.

It was odd and more than a little off-putting that his dreams had got worse right when he began his Occlumency lessons. He'd been visiting the long corridor at least a few times a week, but since his first lesson with Snape, he'd been there every night. Not to mention his other dreams.

Since returning to Hogwarts, he'd managed to avoid the worst of the memories from last year. The graveyard hadn't haunted him like it had when he was stuck at the Dursleys. Most nights, it seemed as though he was able to take solace in the good memories and flee from the bad ones.

But lately, it was almost as if he was being stalked by the graveyard, and by the corridor, and by a myriad of other ghosts that clung to his subconscious like barnacles on the bottom of a pier. Out of sight at first glance, but stubbornly clinging on and making everything darker, dirtier.

With a sigh, Harry scrubbed the sleep from his face roughly before opening the door to the classroom. He couldn't do much about the circles under his eyes that blackened his already dark skin, but he could at least make the rest of himself presentable. Especially before seeing Malfoy.

Most of the time, Harry didn't care what he looked like. Having grown up in horribly oversized hand-me-downs, he'd learned quickly not to care what others thought of his appearance.

But Malfoy was a different story. He seemed to care a great deal what he looked like, about others' opinions of him. And Malfoy had become important to Harry, to say the least. He hadn't been able to see much of the blond in the past week, and it only surprised him a little how much he missed him.

Even more so since the nightmares about Ced had gotten worse. Dreaming used to be a comfort to him, if only temporarily. He always woke up cold and alone, but sometimes while he slept, he would be right back in the library with Cedric, huddled over books on defensive spells, trading tips and secret smiles. Or he would be in the Prefect's bathroom, feet soaking in brilliantly colored bubbles, laughing because Cedric was laughing, and it was impossible not to laugh along with him.

Now, deprived even of the fleeting comfort of his dreams, Harry was lonelier than ever.

Malfoy helped.

Harry took his usual seat to Malfoy's left, running a hand through his ruffled hair to try and tame it. He was unsuccessful.

Malfoy noticed, apparently, as he smirked at Harry, flicking his eyes up towards his hair meaningfully.

Harry rolled his eyes, trying to hold back a smile, and sent him a rude gesture.

Malfoy scoffed, shooting back a mock glare. His eyes lingered on Harry's face, as they sometimes did. Harry felt a bit self-conscious of the bags under his eyes, but otherwise he didn't mind the scrutiny. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Just then, Umbridge stood to babble as usual about the day's reading before her swoopy, girlish handwriting appeared once again on the blackboard with the assigned pages.

Harry and Malfoy dutifully opened their books.

Almost before he could start pretending to read, Malfoy slipped a note under the cover of his book.

 _I'm wondering, Potter. Do you ever sleep?_

Harry blushed at the words, but decided to try and play it off.

 _Never. I'm actually part Vampire, have I never told you? From my grandmother on my Dad's side._

Malfoy scoffed again under his breath.

 _Normally, I'd love to draw comparisons between you and vampires (like your shared affinity for sucking the fun out of everything, for instance), but you won't distract me today. What's going on with you? You've been walking around like the undead all week._

Harry read the note, smiling a bit at the playful jab.

 _I thought you said you weren't going to compare me to a vampire?_

Harry suspected that Malfoy knew he would ask that question, because he took no time at all to scratch his reply on the parchment.

 _I happen to be exceedingly clever, and can accomplish both satire and concern at once. Now quit stalling._

Harry sighed.

 _Weren't you the one who told me never to put sensitive material in writing?_

Malfoy looked up at that, eyes immediately finding Umbridge's toady figure. He nodded, then wrote:

 _Fair point. I'm glad you're finally learning from my wisdom, Potter. Tonight, the usual place, after dinner._

Harry smiled briefly before he caught himself.

 _See you then._

 _A/N – Hellooo! It's been a while. Again. But I'm back, and I bring with me this chapter – along with the complete recollection of poor Ced's death and the source of Harry's PTSD. I can't wait to get a little further along in this story so my sweet, battered Harry can find a bit more peace. This is a hard fic to write sometimes because of what a dark place Harry is in, but it's also therapeutic for me in a way. Like JK writing about the Dementors. This is my own little representation of my trauma and depression. Welcome to my brain, guys._

 _Anyways, thanks to all of you who have stuck with this story. And thank you so much to those who have taken a moment to share your comments and thoughts with me. You've no idea how much it means._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Embossed on Dark Skin

Draco hated waiting.

Why was Potter always late for things?

Draco especially hated waiting when the man had seemed so _off_ earlier in class. Draco recalled the dark circles under Potter's eyes, his slumped shoulders, his rumpled appearance. Well, more rumpled than usual.

Had he been losing sleep over his visions? Had they gotten worse? Had the _connection_ between him and the Dark Lord intensified somehow, or turned darker? Worry began to seep further into Draco's skin the longer he thought about it.

And still he waited.

Well, if Potter was going to make him wait, especially considering the circumstances, then he would at least appear unaffected. Sniffing indignantly, he made a point of lounging indifferently on the cushions in the Room of Requirement. When Potter finally did arrive, he would find Draco in a perfect state of bored, aristocratic ease.

Draco realized almost immediately that he was essentially planning on posing for the man.

With a jolt of embarrassment and pride, he started to stand. He knew he was pathetically out of his mind for the Scarhead, but he drew the line at _posing_.

The door began to creak open before Draco was fully upright, and, startled, he collapsed onto the cushions once more. Almost without thinking, he affected the same position of haughty boredom that he was occupying moments earlier. He hated himself a little for giving in to his impulse, but, well, he supposed that he simply wanted Potter to see him in a certain light… a light that didn't betray his feelings.

"All right, Malfoy?" He greeted.

"Well you took your time, didn't you?" Draco teased.

Potter rolled his eyes and dead-panned, "Yes, I can see that you were anxiously awaiting my arrival."

 _If you only knew, Potter…_

Draco shook the thought away, instead commenting, "One might think I would be used to your perpetual lateness by now. Apparently I'm a slow learner."

"Well, I'm glad you're aware of the problem. I thought it might be rude to say something about it," Potter quipped, green eyes twinkling.

Draco raised a sardonic eyebrow, making him snicker.

The tired, harassed-looking Potter from earlier that day seemed to have melted away a bit. Draco would have liked to think that his presence caused the change, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Likely, it was due instead to the absence of a certain pink toad.

"If you're quite finished," he went on, throwing a small smirk at Potter, "Why don't you tell me what's going on? It looks like you're pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion."

Potter's demeanor immediately went a bit darker.

"It's this Occlumency business…" he began, and he explained all about the lessons Professor Snape had been giving him. The more he spoke, the more aggravated he became, until he was pacing the room like a caged animal.

Draco had always known that his godfather had a certain bias towards Potter. Hell, Draco himself had shared that bias for years; he could understand the professor's point of view, at least to an extent. Both had looked down on Potter for being a self-righteous, attention-seeking git. Both had, at times, been cruel towards him as punishment, even vengeance. But this… seemed like something else entirely. This was an intrusion that crossed a line.

When Potter had finished his furious diatribe, Draco mused, "There _must_ be a reason that he's pushing you so hard and so quickly. Maybe… maybe he thinks an intensive crash course is in order because of the - the nature of Dumbledore's request?"

" _The nature of Dumbledore's request?_ You mean the fact that I'm connected to Voldemort?" Potter snapped.

Draco flinched before he could stop himself. It didn't go unnoticed.

" _You too?"_ Potter bellowed, his anger at Snape boiling over as he lashed out, "I _knew_ you were freaked out when I told you about the connection, or whatever it is! I had hoped that _someone_ didn't think of me as a freak, but of course that was _impossible-_ "

Before he could ramp himself up further, Draco held up his hands in an effort to call a cease-fire.

In what he hoped was a calming voice that didn't betray his own anger, he said, "I'm aware that this situation isn't ideal for you, but perhaps you could refrain from screaming at _me_ , as I'm only trying to help?"

Potter crossed his arms over his chest, huffing, but went silent.

"And you're wrong, by the way," Draco asserted.

"About what?" He grunted.

"I don't think you're a freak."

He looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye, insecurity peeking through his sidelong glance.

Draco couldn't figure out how to say what he _did_ think of Potter without giving himself away, so to lighten the mood, he added, "...even if you _do_ resemble your vampire relatives when you're sleep-deprived."

Potter snorted a laugh, tension breaking.

"And see," Draco said drolly, "This is how I know you're pushing yourself too hard. That wasn't even that funny. Normally I'm hilarious, but I wasn't even trying just now, and you've still gone all _giggly_."

"You? Hilarious?"

This time, a bark of laughter escaped the dark-skinned wizard.

Draco huffed, slightly offended, "I have an impeccable sense of humor when I feel like pulling it out."

Potter clamped his lips together in an attempt to suppress his laughter, but he couldn't quite stop from shaking with mirth. It seemed that the more he tried to calm himself, the more insistent his laughter became.

"I'm serious, Potter!" Draco pressed, affecting an unconvincing scowl.

But Potter couldn't hold back any longer. A deep, bubbling chuckle erupted from him, growing into a full-bellied laugh. It was so charming and genuine that it threatened to spread to Draco too, who had to concentrate on keeping his face stoic. He suspected that he hadn't been fully successful, though, as Potter laughed even harder.

"Did you know-" he managed, "-that when you're trying not to smile, your lips do this odd tremble thing?"

As he spoke, he lifted a finger, wobbling it in the air to mimic a trembling motion and causing the sleeve of his robes to fall further and further down his wrist.

Draco couldn't help it; he smiled. The man had no idea how endearing he was, how easily he could break down Draco's defenses. It was unnerving. It was _enticing._ It was -

 _What is that?_

Draco caught sight of something that caused the smile to slip off his lips. Thoughtlessly, he grabbed Potter's hand, throwing his long sleeve up above his forearm.

There, on the back of his hand, was a sight that made his stomach churn. The thin lines of the letters were raised slightly, embossed on the dark skin. Scarred.

 _I must not tell lies._

"Shit," Potter swore and tried to jerk his hand away, but Draco kept it clamped in his grip, staring, trying to make sense of it.

Then, without a word, he dropped his hand, turned, and made for the door.

Someone was going to pay for this.

"Draco, no!" Potter grabbed his elbow, swinging him back around, holding him in place.

"It was the _toad_ , wasn't it?" he demanded, feeling as if his fury would tear him open.

When had he started shaking?

Hesitantly, Potter nodded.

Draco growled, struggling to be free of Potter's grip, but the wizard had a tight hold on him.

"Draco, stop! I've got it sorted!"

Draco swiftly grabbed Potter's hand again, wrenched up the sleeve of his robes, and turned his hand so that light caught on the ridges of the words.

"Does _this_ look sorted to you?!" he bellowed.

Potter yanked his hand away, "It's fine-"

" _It's not bloody well FINE!_ "

"I can take care of myself!"

"Oh, well that's _obviously false,_ according to the cursed fucking scar on your hand!"

"What do you care?!"

"I-" Draco bit his tongue, letting out another frustrated growl, "Will you just let me _help you?_ What is it with you stupid, self-sacrificing Gryffindors?"

The obstinate look on Potter's face suggested that he was planning to say exactly what he thought about intrusive Slytherins, but Draco cut him off before he could begin.

"How long has the hag made you use it?" he demanded.

"Use what?" Potter yelled.

"The _Black Quill!_ "

Potter's dark cheeks went a bit paler. "How did you know what she made me use?"

Draco rolled his eyes and snapped, "One doesn't grow up in the presence of Death Eaters and not recognize the effects of a Black Quill. Now stop avoiding the question: _how long_?"

"Since my first detention! Is that what you want to hear?" Potter threw his hands up in exasperation.

Draco flexed his jaw in an attempt to stop yelling.

"Potter," he said through clenched teeth, "That was nearly the start of term. Are you telling me that you've been using a Black Quill for over four months?"

He only huffed, sitting down heavily on a cushion.

"It's not as if I had a choice in the matter…" he grumbled, surly.

"You _did have_ -" Draco began to yell again, but he clamped his mouth shut and took in a deep breath. He let it out again, walking a few steps towards Potter and collapsing onto a cushion beside him.

He rested his elbows on his knees and stared determinedly at the ground. He couldn't look at him when he said this.

"You had a choice, Potter. You could have told someone. You… you could have told _me._ "

There was a slightly awkward silence, before Potter responded, "I didn't think there was anything you could do to help. And I didn't want you to - to worry. Even though you say you don't. Worry about me, that is."

Draco took another deep breath, still pointedly staring at the stones beneath his feet. He gathered up his meager courage and steeled himself.

"Of course I worry about you," he admitted quietly. He managed to keep from adding, _for good reason, apparently._

After what seemed like ages, Draco finally tore his eyes away from the ground to gauge Potter's reaction to his statement.

The man's lips were folded in. It looked as if he were biting down on them. It was the same expression Draco had seen a thousand times in Defense class.

He was trying to hide a smile.

"You… you actually _care_ about me, don't you Malfoy?"

Draco immediately returned his gaze to the patch of stone floor beneath him, uncertain. Was Potter happy that he cared? Or was the thought so ridiculous that he was laughing at him?

 _Fuck, fuck,_ fuck!

"Care? I didn't say - I _worry_ is all-" he hedged. He hoped he sounded indignant instead of embarrassed.

"You care about me too _,_ admit it!" Potter insisted, beaming.

 _Too?_

Could he really be admitting...?

And this time, he could feel the tell-tale tremor of his own smile playing at his lips.

He stifled it almost immediately, but not before Potter had caught a glimpse, his self-satisfied grin growing even bigger.

"Shut it, Potter!" Draco demanded with mock severity. Shoving the laughing man in the shoulder as he stood, he dramatically brandished his wand.

"Make me, Malfoy!" Potter quipped jovially, clamoring to his feet and pulling out his own wand.

The two faced off as they always did. Draco lost the first round spectacularly, unable to keep his thoughts from running away with him. A cacophony of questions kept going off like fireworks in his head, and his hopeful, terrified heart refused to slow.

They took their places once more, counting down before throwing hexes at one another.

Neither could keep from smiling.


End file.
